


Bella Muerte

by Senneres



Category: Dead men tell no tales, Movie: Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Men Tell No Tales - Fandom, Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Basically What Might Happen If Dead Men Tell No Tales Ended Differently, Canon-Typical Violence, Cursed Salazar, Cursed Silent Mary Crew, Dark, F/M, Implied/Referenced Past Suicide Attempt, Movie: Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Men Tell No Tales, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2019-07-01 22:31:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 73,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15783429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Senneres/pseuds/Senneres
Summary: A magical love spell goes drastically wrong, and swaps the soul of an upper class lady aboard a sailing ship with that of a 21st century woman...





	1. Aboard The Proserpine

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Any publicly recognisable dialogue, characters and settings etc is the property of The Pirates Of The Caribbean Franchise (books, movies and games inclusive), and its respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR'S NOTE: I feel like it's probably good and fair of me to advise that Capitán Salazar arrives in Chapter 5 - and there's a slow build up to his arrival that is necessary for what comes after... in any case, please enjoy!

They say that when you're dying, you know it.

You hear all the clichés.

You hear people say that _of course_ you realise you're dying; and you see your life flashing before your eyes, the things you regret doing, the things you regret _never_ doing, the light at the end of the tunnel…

Utter rubbish.

I had no idea I was dying.

I didn't find out I'd actually even died – though apparently only for a few minutes – until much, much later.

I was lying on my back in a sparse room in a hospital, staring up at the cracked and yellowed ceiling. I seemed to be having a lot of trouble breathing. I didn't know where the nurses or doctors were. The room was completely empty: just me, lying on a gurney that I had no recollection of even being placed on, a machine making half-hearted noises in the silence next to me. They'd shoved a tube down my throat, in a dire attempt to do something – feed me oxygen I suppose, though my lungs were too iron-tight now to expand even for a little breath.

I wished I could close my eyes. I wished I could pull this tube out of my throat. But I couldn't move.

The room started to lurch.

The ceiling started to blur.

I suddenly started to feel very cold, cold everywhere, going into my nose, going into my mouth, entering my lungs. I tried to cough it out, and I started to panic when I realised I couldn't.

"Why isn't this patient in ER?" came a voice. "Who the hell left her here?"

"Get the Doctor!" snapped a second voice. "Now!"

But the voices were growing fainter by the second, and the yellowed ceiling was a mess of fragmenting streaks, and all around me was a rising white noise, like an old fashioned TV that had lost its signal.

And then the white noise began to go in and out, like the waves on a shore, and the room lurched up and down in time with the noise, and finally, _finally_ I was able to close my eyes, and succumb thankfully to the drifting peace…

 

* * *

 

But the relief of being able to finally shut my eyes was short-lived.

My throat reminded me that living was still an unfortunate option by constricting tightly, and the cold sensation in my lungs doubled, making me nauseous.

A paroxysm of coughing took hold.

I coughed so hard I felt like I was going to vomit, as the cold shifted out of my lungs, painfully burning up through my throat and out of my mouth. My head fell back on something hard as the coughing subsided, and I groaned.

"Come on, that's it, keep coughin' it all up, that's the girl!"

I shivered, and tried to cough again, turning my head to the side as more salty cold came out of my nose and mouth.

Something rough wiped my face. "There yer are, yer all good now!"

"Where..." I tried to ask what I could only assume was the doctor, "Where were you?"

"'S alright now, m'Lady, we got t'yer right quick! Took a bad tumble off the side, didn't yer? But yer all safe and sound back on the _Proserpine,_ m'Lady!"

My brain stuttered to a stop. _What_ did he just say?

"Is she alive?" A curt British voice said from somewhere over me.

"She's swallowed a pint or two, sir," answered the first, "But she's breathin'."

Murmurs around me.

"What –" I choked out hoarsely, "What's happening –"

"Out of my way!" A commanding young French voice cut through the murmurs. "Bouges!"

 _French_? I opened my eyes in the direction of the new voice.

I was no longer in the hospital.

I appeared to be out in the open, under an overcast sky; a blurry crowd of oddly dressed people staring down at me.

"My lady?"

The owner of the voice knelt down next to me, avoiding the puddle of seawater I'd just coughed up.

"My lady, can you sit?"

I tried to focus on the woman who continued to speak rapidly at me, but a fit of shivers overtook me.

"You must 'elp, s'il vous plait," the woman commanded someone.

Firm hands eased under my shoulders, and I was slowly lifted into a sitting position, an itchy and heavy blanket draped around me.

"My lady," the woman said again, before repeating slowly in French. "Que s'est-il passe?"

I could remember enough high school French to understand she was asking me what happened, but I didn't even know how to begin to answer her.

What happened…

What _had_ happened?

How could I tell her what happened when I barely knew myself?

I stared down at my trembling hands… my hands…

These were not my hands.

My hands were strong hands, ugly hands. Hands with skin worn thin from constant gardening and fingers calloused from work – but these were small, delicate hands that had not apparently seen even the merest scrape in their life, white and dainty, with the most ridiculously chubby little fingers.

And what was I wearing?

I stared down, confused, at the expanse of near-flawless pale skin.

A square neckline that stopped bare millimetres above my nipples, framing a pushed-up pale cleavage with wet but never-the-less ostentatious ruffles…

What. The. F –

"My lady, we need to get you somewhere warm!"

The French woman at my side interrupted my incredulous self-examination, her insistent hands under my elbow, trying to pull me unsteadily to my feet – no, not my feet, someone else's. And what the hell kind of shoes did I have on?

"My lady!" the woman pulled again on my arm.

My vision started to clear more as I stood, and slowly began to register where I was.

A ship's deck tilting with the waves under my feet.

A stink of unwashed sailors around me, coupled with something like rancid cooking fat.

A rhythmic sound of tarred ropes whipping in the wind against wooden masts.

Canvas sails billowing out above me.

And all around, the continuous grey sea under a pale grey sky…

I nearly fell again, but the little French woman at my side stalwartly held me up.

"Lady Stanhope!"

A man stepped forward in front of us. He was dressed in a white and navy uniform, trimmed with gold embroidery, and had the air of one very used to giving orders.

"Lady Stanhope, I beg you would kindly explain," he addressed me with heavy sarcasm, "The circumstances of your being in the sea, at the inconvenience of every man aboard this ship!"

"Lieutenant Scarfield," the woman at my side purred with a saucy sort of elegance, as only the French can do, "No doubt, you 'ave a great many questions, but they must wait, sir. Can you not see, my lady is not 'erself?"

The man who'd been addressed as Lieutenant Scarfield stared down at me – wait. Stared _down_ at me?

How short was I?

I glanced around at the other men surrounding us, and realised I was a good three inches shorter than I was used to being. I was _tiny_.

Lieutenant Scarfield relented in the face of the saucy smile the French woman at my side gave him, and my obviously bewildered disorientation.

"Very well, but when she is – feeling herself, Eleni, I would be most interested in her explanation."

With a dismissive puff of air, the French woman, Eleni, turned her chin away from Lieutenant Scarfield, and pulled me forward.

I followed, stumbling a little, as she led me out between the gawping sailors, down the deck of the ship.

"Keep walking," Eleni muttered out of the corner of her mouth to me. " _Try_ to act like my lady."

I stiffened at her words, but she resolutely pulled me on, not stopping until she'd pulled me through a small cabin door at the other end of the ship, shutting and locking it firmly behind us.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR'S NOTES: To make the ropes slide better through the ship's deadeyes etc, sailors would coat them with a mixture of pig fat and occasionally tar, as it helped protect the ropes from the elements and ensured they would work to manipulate the sails more effectively. The smell however, was often horrendous, especially towards the end of a voyage, when the lard was frequently rancid…
> 
> PERSONAL NOTE: I just want to do a shout out for BluKoffee's AMAZING time travel fic 'Out of Place, Out of Time' on FF.net, where we get to see Capitán Salazar and the Silent Mary crew as human – so if you haven't yet, go read it now!
> 
> I'd also like to credit Piratesangel on Tumblr as the constant and wonderful source of inspiration for everything I write (which may or may not be a good thing!), and my other precious friends Blackleatherjacketz and Thorns-and-rosewings who proofread this first chapter for me!


	2. The Stupide Imbécile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my French-speaking friend, Patricia, who inspired, critiqued and generally put up with the creation of a French maid's English dialogue... my simultaneous apologies and thanks.

Once the cabin door was shut, Eleni turned away from me angrily.

"This was not supposed to 'ave 'appened!"

She stalked towards a chest in the corner of the cramped cabin room.

"Stupide imbécile!"

Flinging the lid open, she began to curse in French to herself as she dug through its contents.

"Stupide!" I overheard her say, followed by snatches of phrases that sounded like, "wrong," and "disaster!"

Finally she turned to me.

She had a knife in her hand.

"You are not supposed to be 'ere!"

I felt the door at my back, and fumbled to put my hand on the iron latch, not letting my eyes leave her or her knife.

"Arrêtez!" She commanded, holding the blade up. "Now, Mademoiselle, you will tell me who you really are!"

I stared at her.

"Tell me!" Her eyes flashed warningly at me. "Or – or, I will make you tell me!"

Her voice trembled.

I tilted my head, studying her.

She stuck her chin out at me in a show of fierce determination, but her knife-hand was shaking.

I decided to risk her bluff.

"Well, go on. Make me."

"Oui! I will!" She stood even straighter, "Who are you?"

"Well, I'm not this Lady Stanhope," I surprised myself with my own calm, faced with a knife as I was, and went on, "But you already know that, don't you?"

"Of course I know that!" She snapped. "I knew at once!"

I frowned as the implications of her admittance sank in.

So she _had_ known I wasn't Lady Stanhope.

She'd known, even when the other man, Lieutenant Scarfield, had not.

The strangest of ideas began to form in my mind. That, for all her show, this woman knew more about what was going on than I did.

Her eyes widened a little as I stepped away from the door.

"If you knew I'm not Lady Stanhope…" I said, "Then you also know how I got here. _You_ know what happened."

After a long moment, she nodded.

"But who are you?" She repeated.

"I really don't think that matters," I shook my head. "I think what matters is getting me the hell back!"

She looked at me, as though shrewdly weighing me up, her eyes darting over my face, apparently thinking fast in the silence. Finally, she seemed to have made her mind up that I posed no actual threat, and groaned out loud in frustration.

"Ah, mon dieu, but this is a mess!"

She threw up her hands, half-turning away in disgust.

"Mind telling me then," I said carefully, "Who I have to blame for this mess?"

She glared at me before sticking her chin out again in another show of anger.

"My lady is a stupide imbécile!"

"Lady Stanhope?"

"She made a mistake!"

"A mistake?"

A 'mistake' didn't seem like a good enough word to describe the crazy situation I appeared to be in, and the French maid was in complete agreement.

"Oui, more than a mistake!" Eleni snorted. "An enormous stupid calamity!"

I nodded, in what I hoped was a sympathetic way, to get her to say more. "What did she do?"

"Peuh! It was a - it was a magic love spell!"

I gaped in disbelief.

She scowled at my expression, before waving the knife threateningly between us.

"And don't start to tell me you don't believe in magic, mademoiselle! It was magic, but it did not work the way it was supposed to!"

I stuffed down the latent hysteria starting to rise at her incredible statement, and kept her talking.

"So, this…" I gestured down to the body I was in, "Happened because a –"

I nearly shook my head at the ridiculous words, except Eleni's glare stalled me.

"– A magic love spell went wrong?"

"Oui!" She huffed. "Stupide woman, she uses 'er own magic, even when I tell 'er no, and it all goes wrong!"

"But if this wasn't – what was supposed to happen… then what _was_ your lady trying to do?"

The French maid looked at me shrewdly, a look which made me uneasy, before rolling her eyes melodramatically and declaring:

"Trying to be with de l'amour de sa vie, of course!"

I stared. "Um - ?"

She groaned as though in pain.

"I tried to tell her, no, madam, not good – but who listens to a maid?"

"De l'amour –" I was still lagging behind. "Her – her lover?"

"Oui," Eleni paced back and forth near the chest, knife still in hand. "She tried to cast a spell, did she not? Her uncle, peuh!"

She mock-spat on the ground.

"'E is the Mayor of St Martin, and 'e sends letters to us in Port Royal, telling 'er no, you are my niece, you cannot stay in the 'ouse alone anymore! Now that 'er parents 'ave died, this uncle says she must leave and come back to St Martin, before the seas become too dangerous to travel, and she is stranded forever. But my lady says no, and I am knowing it is wrong, but when does she ever consider me?"

A look of rage was swiftly covered when she realised I was still staring hard at her.

"And what happened after that?"

"And then…" her tone softens. "The 'andsome Lieutenant John Scarfield comes, all of a sudden, to take 'er back to St Martin. And, mon Dieu, my lady won't stop crying, for days as we sail!"

She scowled.

"And as if it is not already enough, to be sailing about, with these wicked Spanish devils killing everyone they can!"

"So –" I tried to get my head around it all. "Your lady. She tried to – to throw herself into the sea? Because she didn't want to live with her uncle?"

The maid's expression grew even darker, and I watched as her grip on the knife tightened again.

" _Non_! She was just an imbécile! The love spell says, you must give a sacrifice to make the magic work, and so I –" Eleni stumbled a little, "Excusez-moi, _she_ , she thinks it means that – that she must give 'er life, and so, and so, stupide English, she throws 'erself into the sea before I can stop 'er!"

Something about the story didn't seem to fit, and yet I couldn't put my finger on what it was.

"So how did you know… that I wasn't Lady Stanhope?"

"Peuh!" The maid scoffed. "I knew the moment I saw you laid on the deck, you are someone else! I saw it –" She waved at my face, "Clearly. Others see my lady, but _I_ see your real face. Anyone used to magic can see you."

It was suddenly very hard to breathe again.

I squeezed the folds of the still-sodden dress I wore, and felt a wave of hot and cold wash over me. I wished this was just a dream. A crazy dream, brought on by falling asleep in front of the TV, or eating too much cheese before bed, or just plain having too much on my mind. But it was not.

There was too much tactile sensation for it to be a dream. The itchy blanket, the musty smell of sweat and stale sea air in the chilly cabin, the grey afternoon light streaming in through the tiny window, the heaviness of the wet dress dragging down my skin…

This was too real, and too uncomfortable, to be a dream.

I choked back a hysterical sob in my throat, squeezing more of the dress in my fists, and tried to take a deep breath in spite of the stiff corset.

Ignoring me, Eleni slumped on the bed, her back to me.

"Mon Dieu! I thought she drowned," she sighed. "I was so sure, she was dead!"

She turned and looked at me.

"But instead, she 'as swapped 'er soul for another's! I do not know 'ow she did it!" She shook her head. "But now, there is nothing to be done!"

I felt all the blood drain from my face as a sudden thought, a terrible thought, came to me.

"So she's – she's in _my_ body…?"

The thought of an English lady, from what seemed to be the 1700s, walking around in my body, in the future, was almost comical… except it was _my_ body. My life. My family, my friends… and I wanted to be back there.

I swallowed as Eleni stared back at me mutely, the stony expression on her face confirming it.

"Can you reverse it?" I asked, making a supreme effort to keep my voice steady. I was not going to give into hysteria. Not yet.

The maid considered my words.

The silence stretched long in the cabin between us.

She stared down at the knife in her hands.

"Non." Her face closed down completely as she looked at me. "There is no reversal possible. I do not know of any magic that can 'elp you. 'Er soul _is_ likely now in your body."

"You mean…" my brain threatened to shut down, but I refused to accept that. "I can't go back."

Eleni looked away.

"I'm afraid not," she said softly. "You are in my lady's body now until you die."  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FRENCH TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> Stupide imbécile - Stupid idiot
> 
> Arrêtez - Stop
> 
> De l'amour de sa vie - the love of her life
> 
> Mon dieu - my God


	3. The Spell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our Capitán Salazar is not far off... but don't be too eager for his arrival!

I was on the floor. I don't know when I'd sunk down on the floor, or how long I'd been there, but gradually I became aware of the dull complaint of my legs, followed by a sharp ache in my ankles. With a soft groan, I unfolded my legs and stretched them out in front of me.

"Ah, poor child," Eleni tutted.

I looked up to see she was kneeling down on the floor beside me, tugging the blanket out from where it had wedged between the door and my back.

"You cannot stay sitting here, Mademoiselle."

She shucked the blanket away from me.

"Levez-vous," she gently took my hand, helping me to my feet. "You need, at least, to change your dress, Mademoiselle."

I looked down. I was still wearing the same dress Lady Stanhope had been in when she threw herself off the ship. _The same dress she nearly drowned in_ , my brain unhelpfully supplied.

"You need to put something dry on," Eleni said, as I steadied myself numbly.

"What I need," I muttered, "Is to be back home in my own body."

I raked hands through my hair in frustration. My fingers caught painfully on the damp knots and I sucked a breath in, annoyed.

"You will 'ave to look decent." The maid said pointedly as she stood in front of me. "You should change and comb your 'air. Especially since you still 'ave to go to dinner later."

"I have to _what_?"

"Dinner." Eleni nodded thoughtfully, as though an idea was taking hold. "My lady 'as been dining with the Captain and 'is officers every night. You must still act like you are Lady Stanhope. At least for now."

"Tell them I'm sick."

"No, you cannot." The maid was now adamant. "You must act as though nothing 'as changed. This afternoon was just an – accident. You must be a lady."

"A lady?" I almost laughed. "I can't imagine anything I'd be worse at!"

"But you must try!" She insisted. "We do not want them asking you any questions about what 'appened."

"Well, I hardly see how I'm going to avoid it if I have to go to dinner with them! And I haven't the slightest clue how to – I don't know the first thing about etiquette or manners or – _anything_ about Lady Stanhope!"

Eleni's eyes briefly glittered with malice, but when I stopped to stare, she only pasted on a fake smile.

"I am sure you can act the part." She said lightly, before turning and crossing away to the chest. "Tomorrow we arrive at St Martin. You only 'ave to be Lady Stanhope for tonight, and that should be enough. Tomorrow, I can 'elp you disappear. You don't ever 'ave to be a Lady again."

She started rummaging through the chest.

"But for tonight, we 'ave to make you… presentable. Maybe, if you look pretty enough, they will forget to ask you any questions at all."

 

* * *

 

Twenty minutes later, Eleni was staring in deep disapproval at the way I was washing myself.

"C'est trés bête, bête, bête," she muttered, standing back in shocked censure as I stripped absolutely everything off.

"My Lady _always_ wears a shift when she washes!" She'd remonstrated, but I didn't care.

I couldn't stand the way I stank of seawater, and the layers of wet clothes had added a nose-wrinkling coat of unfamiliar body odour to the mix. It was a relief to peel it all off. I did my best using the ice cold water in the shallow basin she'd fetched, but I refused the soap-ball she pointed out to me. It reeked. I just couldn't bring myself to wash with something that smelt exactly like the stuff they used to clean the floors of my old high school with.

Instead, when I asked her if there was anything else with which to smell better, she reluctantly passed me an ornately carved wooden box. Inside the box were two small glass bottles of perfumed oils. One smelt eye-wateringly like sweaty roses, but the other had a slightly more pleasant and subtle scent of orange blossom, so I chose that one to dab over myself. I shuddered at the thought of being stuck for a lifetime without deodorant.

Eleni had informed me, as she'd wrapped a clean corset over the heavy petticoat, and pulled the strings tight, that I did not have to worry _too_ much about manners on a ship. She was certain that if I simpered and acted coy, it would be enough.

"Only one night," she kept saying, with a certain degree of satisfaction. "And then you can leave."

The uncertainty of what I would do after we made it to St Martin was not something I was ready to think on yet.

As Eleni laid out a selection of dresses for me to choose, one thing was hideously apparent: Lady Stanhope seemed to adore showing off cleavage.

"Is there _any_ dress that doesn't show my breasts to the world?" I frowned.

" _Breasts_?" Eleni arched an eyebrow at me in great disdain.

"I mean, why do I need to show so much skin?"

"It is the fashion!" She said haughtily.

"Well, is there anything that at least covers my chest?"

"Mon dieu! Only peasants and puritans cover themselves to the neck!"

"Well, can I at least wear a shawl?"

"Absolument pas!" Eleni was firm. "You must look exactly as my lady does."

And she pulled out an extremely lavish dress with the lowest neckline of them all, in an obvious attempt to spite me. It looked like the kind of dress Marie Antoinette would've told peasants to 'eat cake' in. Its neckline somehow managed to seem even lower than the dress I'd woken up here in.

"I am _not_ wearing that!"

"You want to pass as Lady Stanhope tonight, then you wear it!" She threw it at me. "They will be too busy staring at your _breasts,_ to care that you do not sound like my lady, non? It will be perfect!"

And she stuffed the other dresses in the chest, before sitting on top of it and glaring at me expectantly.

I grimaced.

"Fine!"

After I'd put on the monstrosity of a dress, Eleni had pulled out yet more things from the chest. I couldn't help blinking in wonder as Eleni laid out a profusion of small boxes of powder and patches, brooches and rings and other trinkets on the bed. How much could one tiny woman wear? But it was when she pulled out an amulet that looked bigger than my fist, and plonked it down amidst an assortment of sapphire and ruby bracelets, that I had had enough.

"No." I put my foot down. "No, no, no, no, no!"

She finally relented on the issue of jewellery when I threatened that it was either the hair _or_ the jewellery, but not both; but not before muttering, "Peuh! Commoner!"

Eleni did get her revenge however, when it came to combing out the long hair.

I winced as she pulled hard to get the knots out, and thought fondly of the leave-in conditioner I had at home – still hundreds of years away from even been invented. After an eternity of yanking the comb through, she then set about braiding my hair, working a string of pearls through the braids in a painfully elaborate style for dinner. She tried twice to put powder in my hair - and both times I arched away, refusing.

"You will be so _unfashionable_!" She lectured me. "You will be laughed at before the first course is even served!"

But I was growing determined to see the impending night through, and without a single speck of powder, no matter how much Eleni huffed and pouted. I knew I had enough common sense to make it by.

Somehow.

But there was more I had to worry about than a small dinner on a ship somewhere in the Caribbean. I had to worry about what would happen if I died in this body. I wondered if somehow - in spite of everything - if dying in this body might somehow let me wake up back in mine. Perhaps death was an option. Perhaps death was the way to go home. But the thought of failing… it was too great a risk. And I was too scared to really consider how to go about doing it, if I was being honest with myself.

I then wondered how desperate Lady Stanhope had been, to fool herself into thinking that a magic spell demanding the sacrifice of her own life would actually work, and I thought again how something in Eleni's story didn't sit quite right in my brain. I was torn between feeling sympathy for the woman whose body I now occupied – and anger, because her selfish act had torn me from my own body and thrust me into a situation I had no idea how to even begin to navigate.

"There," Eleni finished, standing back to critically study her work. She reached for a handmirror. "Would you like to see?"

"No!" I said quickly.

Eleni frowned.

"I don't want to see what I look like," I said apologetically. "I'm – I can't."

"Pourquoi pas?" Eleni asked in annoyance. "Why not?"

Because I wasn't sure how I'd cope with seeing a different face than my own in a mirror. I wasn't sure if my brain wouldn't completely shut down. And I needed a functioning brain right now, more than ever in my life.

"I'm - I'm just not ready to see."

She opened her mouth as though to argue, so I quickly changed the subject.

"Can you tell me more about what this love spell was, that your lady was trying to do?"

"Peuh! You ask because you think it is the spell's fault!" Eleni grumbled, as she started to put things neatly away. "It's not. _She_ was just trés bête."

"Details, please." I asked tersely.

"Peuh," she snorted, "You are not 'aving any magic like 'er or me, you would not understand – "

"I want to know!"

She stared at me.

"Trés bien," she suddenly shrugged, avoiding my angry look, and fished out a folded up piece of yellowed paper from her bodice.

"This is the spell."

She held it out to me.

The writing was scrawled, the ink smudged across the page, as though done in a hurry. I read through it slowly, finding the writing at times hard to decipher, but I persevered until the end. Something about the spell wasn't adding up.

"I don't know magic." I said slowly.

The maid made another disparaging snort, as she shoved a jewellery box away in the chest.

"But I _can_ read. And this isn't just a love spell." I read over the beginning once more. "This is a spell to be with your soulmate."

"Oui," she looked away, "Your soulmate."

"And throwing herself off the ship was going to accomplish that?"

"All magic demands a sacrifice." Eleni was stern. "It just didn't work."

"Or…" I couldn't help disagreeing, "It _did_ work. But her soulmate just wasn't who she thought it'd be…"

Or _when_ she thought her soulmate would be.

I looked down at the spell.

What if the spell actually _had_ worked?

I thought of the hospital ceiling I'd been staring at before everything went blurry, the voices calling out to take me to ER… I wondered what they'd make of it when the lady whose body I'd swapped with woke up in the hospital, and started speaking in a weird 1700's English accent… But, unfortunately for me, there was nothing I could do about that.

I was stuck here, in this time, in her body.

Permanently.

Until, apparently, I died.

And she'd live out her existence, with all the amenities and hygiene and comforts and freedoms the 21st century had to offer, in _my_ body. Not to mention, with this stupid soulmate the spell had apparently taken her to be with. I felt my brow wrinkling as I crumpled the piece of paper in the ridiculously tiny hand.

"Perhaps," Eleni said slowly, as she mulled over my words. "Perhaps, I – we can try again. We can fix this mistake, by making the correct sacrifice…"

"Really? And, pray tell, what sacrifice," my voice cracked with sarcasm, "Is the 'correct' one?"

The maid stared darkly at the wall of the cabin, before shaking herself and assuming a lighter tone.

"For love? Who can tell. Love magic is strange, and never works the way you think."

"Well," I said, mocking her light tone with a fake bright smile of my own, "You know what. Fuck Lady Stanhope. Fuck this century, and fuck your stupid love magic!"

I turned and wrenched at the door. I couldn't open it. I stared dumbly down at the handle, trying to figure out how it opened, and feeling angrier than ever that even the doors in this century were beyond me.

"Open this stupid door!"

"Non, non," she came towards me, alarmed, "What are you doing?"

"I need some air!" I said loudly. "I need to get the hell out of this room and I need to breathe some damn _air_!"

"Non, s'il vous plait, calm yourself!" She wrapped a hand around my wrist. "S'il vous plait, stop!"

She had the knife again. She must've picked up the knife from the bed – sometime between putting things away and while I'd been pulling at the door latch – and now she was holding it, a strange look on her face. And in that second, I saw she was building up the courage to actually use it.

A sudden knocking on the door startled us both.

"Lady Stanhope." Lieutenant Scarfield's voice cut through the door.

"It is the Lieutenant!" Eleni whispered, the knife dropping to her side at once, "Tell him to go away!"  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FRENCH TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> Levez-vous - Stand up
> 
> C'est trés bête, bête, bête - That's very silly, silly, silly
> 
> Absolument pas - Absolutely not
> 
> Mon dieu - my God
> 
> Pourquoi pas - Why not?
> 
> Trés bien - Very well
> 
> S'il vous plait - Please


	4. The Woman Scorned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy the plot thickening in this chapter...  
> ... because in the next chapter, a certain Spanish Capitán is about to board their ship

The door latch rattled.

"Lady Stanhope, open this door at once!"

Eleni shook her head, not wanting me to open the door, her grip on my wrist tightening; but I pushed her back and called out through the door.

"One moment please, sir!"

In spite of the other woman's hissed protests, I finally managed to get the latch up and pulled the door open.

Lieutenant Scarfield entered brusquely.

"I apologise, Lady Stanhope, but I can no longer wait!"

Quickly, I folded the crumpled paper with the spell on it, hiding it in my fist.

Lieutenant Scarfield halted in the centre of the cabin pivoting to face me – and then stopped and stared. And blushed. His eyes dipped down to my low neckline. Which I realised must be lower even than what was fashionable, if his expression was anything to go by. I felt myself blushing almost in tandem with the Lieutenant.

"Good lord," he said faintly.

I should've trusted my gut feeling about the ridiculous dress – but it was too late now.

"Does she not look pretty?" Eleni stood at his side.

There was no mistaking the malice in her eyes as she looked at me, and this time she didn't try to hide it.

"What – what are you – wearing?" Lieutenant Scarfield lifted his eyes up to my face. "And – your hair – ? You never wear it like other ladies – not like that…"

"La, is she not to your taste, Lieutenant?" Eleni grinned nastily.

I suddenly realised.

Puzzle pieces slid into place.

Eleni. The little bitch.

Watching her simpering triumphantly, I realised she'd deliberately dressed me this way. I stared between them, her adoring gaze up at him, his look of confusion at me. And I knew. It was never Lady Stanhope's love spell that had gone wrong. It'd been hers.

Eleni was majorly thirsting after Scarfield.

Lieutenant Scarfield seemed to visibly pull himself together, though he was a great deal redder, and said, "I would – I would have a word with you my lady, about this – this afternoon's unhappy accident."

Eleni bristled at his complete focus on me, but hid her displeasure by turning away and hiding the knife under the pillows on the bed, under the guise of plumping them up.

"Eleni, please give your lady and myself a moment, would you."

"Oui, Lieutenant," she responded, "But it is not proper for 'er to be alone –"

He looked at the maid so sharply, she faltered.

" _You_ may wait outside the door," he said coldly.

She didn't seem to dare to argue, but left at once.

Scarfield saw her subtle attempt to leave the door ajar, and lost all patience.

"Close the door!"

As soon as the door was properly shut, he turned to me.

He had been coldly sarcastic before, on deck, but standing alone in the cabin now, without anyone else to restrain himself in front of, he became absolutely livid.

"Was my proposal really so abhorrent?" his eyes bored into mine.

"I'm – sorry?"

"When you said, my lady, that you needed some time to consider, I allowed you that. I even admired you for it! I didn't imagine it was because you were so averse to me that you – that you –"

He squeezed his eyes shut, and swallowed.

"If you really objected so much to being my wife, Lady Stanhope," he said stiffly, "All you had to do was say so! Not – fling yourself over the side of the ship like you were in some Greek tragedy!"

I stared, slowly aghast as the implications of his words slowly sank in.

His… wife? He'd asked her to be his _wife_?

My mouth went dry.

"I can understand your qualms –" he started to pace around the tiny cabin, "And I know how difficult it has been for you from the start – I know I was not very kind, under the circumstances of our first meeting."

He stopped and looked at me, his face despairingly earnest.

"But last night, when I asked you to trust me to get you safely back to St Martin, you said you could. I appreciate your uncertainty about my working with a man like Barbossa, but I must say that in our current circumstances, beggars can't be choosers. As soon as you are safely back with your Uncle, Barbossa and I have a plan in place to put an end to all of this. I know you're very worried for me... because... because you said –" he stopped, swallowing, "You said you – you returned my affections."

Affections.

I took an involuntary step backwards, my hands starting to sweat.

"I asked for your trust, Beatrice!"

I startled at the name. It was so strange, to have him staring at me so ardently, but calling me by a name that wasn't mine – because it was Lady Stanhope's name.

"And now today," he continued, "You showed how little you valued mutual trust! I promised I wouldn't allow anything to happen to you, if we run into trouble, and I meant it."

"Trouble?" My voice was barely audible. "What trouble – are you talking about?"

He looked at me strangely.

"The Spanish, my lady. The Silent Mary. The whole reason why no one dares to sail too far from shore anymore. The reason why your uncle insisted on me fetching you back to St Martin to begin with. Remember?"

None of what he said was making any sense. But it wasn't the not understanding that was causing panic. It was his feelings. His _feelings_ were so palpable, crowding the small space between us so strongly, I couldn't even concentrate enough to listen to him. My heart was beating so fast I could barely focus, and I was finding it hard to breathe again.

"My lady, you really must be so disoriented, forgive me," his face softened. "Was your fall – was it really an accident?"

I closed my eyes, forcing myself to talk.

"Yes," I said – though the rational part of me wasn't so sure it was an accident anymore.

But I couldn't tell him that. Not yet, anyway.

"Please – please, believe me, sir –"

"Beatrice." He cut in. "Please, I thought we agreed you wouldn't call me sir anymore."

"Ah…" I struggled to think what else to call him. "Lieutenant."

He sighed.

"You sound so different," he said.

I froze. I'd forgotten. I sounded nothing like the real Lady Stanhope.

"Your voice…" he said quietly. "You coughed up so much water, you poor darling, it's a wonder you still have a voice at all..."

I nodded dumbly, not risking another word.

He shook his head, his anger seeming to subside completely.

"I'd never been more terrified in my life, than when I saw them laying you out on the deck. You looked so pale... I feared the worst. I feared you'd tried to drown yourself."

I saw the softness in his face, the warmth with which he was speaking to me – and my stomach clenched.

"I'm so sorry, Beatrice," he walked slowly towards me. "But once we get you safely back to St Martin, you'll never have to go out on the sea again."

He grew more gentle than ever.

"These last two weeks, ever since I met you…"

He took my clammy hand in his, and I was still so panic-stricken that I just let him.

"Were the best two weeks of my life. I just wish I'd met you years ago."

He pressed my hand up to his lips.

The door to the cabin suddenly opened, startling us both, and Eleni stood there, fury in every line of her face.

"Lieutenant," she said curtly. "I am sure the Captain will be wanting your presence for dinner."

Scowling at Eleni, Lieutenant Scarfield turned back to me.

"Beatrice," he whispered, "I hope I may still yet have your answer to my - question," before adding, in a louder voice, "I will see you at dinner tonight, my lady?"

He smiled briefly, touching my hand lightly one more time, before turning to leave.

At the door, he paused, and said to Eleni, "One of my men will be stationed just outside this door. He will accompany both you and Lady Stanhope at all times, should she wish to venture again outside this cabin."

I took several deep breaths as he closed the door behind him, trying to get my panic under control. It had been so long since someone had crowded me like that, pouring their feelings out, that I'd almost forgotten the old anxiety. But what had happened just now was an unwelcome reminder that it was still there – I still had it.

As soon as Lieutenant Scarfield's steps died away, Eleni grabbed my arm, and wrenched me close.

"This 'as to stop!" She hissed. "I will fix this!"

"Oh," I sneered, my previous panic flipping into furious sarcasm, "Really? You going to try and stab me?"

I shook her off to step past her, but she refused to move from in front of me.

"Get out of my way," I tensed, ready to fight if I had to.

"You are not supposed to be in my lady's body!" She said angrily. "You need to go back to where you came from! You cannot keep deceiving the Lieutenant –"

"And you've been telling me bullshit ever since you opened your mouth!"

She wrinkled her nose in confusion, repeating, "Bull… shit?"

"Yeah. Bull. Shit." I shook my head in disgust. "It wasn't Lady Stanhope who tried to do a love spell. It was you!"

Eleni's eyes widened in alarm. "Non, not true –"

"She's already in love!" My voice was loud in the tiny cabin. "Why the hell would she be trying a stupid love spell when she's already in love with Lieutenant Scarfield!"

"Shhh!" Eleni nodded her head towards the door. "Not so loud, or we will be 'eard!"

"Couldn't care less! I don't know what you did, but –"

She clutched again at my arm. "I can fix it!"

I stepped back from her. "What do you mean, you can fix it?"

"The spell didn't work, because my lady resisted! She 'ad some magic of 'er own, and I don't know 'ow, but she used it against me! She deflected my magic and then sent out a call for 'elp! She called for a Protector! And then –"

She hesitated, and I could see she was torn between telling me and lying again.

"Just tell me what happened." I insisted. "Tell me the truth!"

But Eleni was reluctant.

"It was just a silly mistake, I just tried a love spell, I did not think it would – it didn't mean anything!"

"How did it go from you doing a love spell to Lady Stanhope nearly drowning?"

"She fell."

"She… fell?" I blinked at her obvious lie. "You mean, you pushed her."

"She ran from me, she was going to go to John, and when I tried to stop 'er from going to 'im, she resisted me with 'er magic, and then – and then she fell!"

Eleni's face was tense and pale.

"I did not mean for it to 'appen – not like that – but now the spell isn't finished!"

I shook my head a little. "She was the sacrifice, wasn't she? She was the one you wanted to sacrifice so that your little love spell would work."

But Eleni refused to accept any blame. "Je suis desolée, the spell was _started_. So maybe there is a way to finish it, and then all will be made right again!"

"And how do you finish the spell?"

"The knife."

She saw my look, and went on quickly.

"The spell says life is the payment, but it may not mean that!" She paused, before saying, "It may mean the blood instead! You seal the spell with blood, because the life is in the blood!"

"So what does that mean for me?"

"You just 'ave to make a cut… just a small cut, and then the spell will be finished, and you can go back to your own body, because the magic will fix itself…"

I found myself wanting to believe her. Wanting to believe it would be as simple as that. Wanting to believe there was still a chance of getting back home...

But then I remembered her face right before Scarfield had knocked on the door. The way she'd looked, holding the knife.

"No. You're not coming anywhere near me with that knife."

I pushed past her to where she'd hidden it under the pillows, and grasped it in my hand.

A strange sensation of cold prickled up my arm, and then the sensation was gone.

She scowled.

"Let me 'ave the spell, at least!"

I looked down at the sadly crumpled paper in my other hand.

"You can keep the knife, but let me 'ave the spell." She said, her eyes hard. "If I am right, and it is only blood that is needed, then you can even do it yourself. But let me examine the spell, so I can be sure!"

I was reluctant to let her have either. But at the same time, she was the only one with any idea how to get me back home.

"Fine," I told her. "A truce. I'll give you the spell – you figure out how to fix what you did. You need to bring the real Lady Stanhope back, and send me home."

She seemed to think it over.

"Trés bien," she agreed after considering me. "I will fix it."

"You'd better." I held out the spell. "But I'm keeping the knife."

She eagerly reached for the spell, smoothing it out carefully against her front.

"I promise, it may be possible to 'ave an answer," she almost smiled. "But it will 'ave to wait now, until after dinner…"

I shook my head, feeling suddenly very tired by it all.

"Well, it's not like I have anywhere else to go."  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FRENCH TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> Je suis desolée - I'm sorry
> 
> Trés bien - Very well
> 
>  
> 
> AUTHOR'S NOTES: Our girl suffers from anxiety in specific emotional situations, such as what she just experienced with Scarfield. She has a genuine phobia of trusting others when they start talking about love, and has panic/anxiety when others tell her they have feelings for her. It's not rational, especially considering she is currently in someone else's body, but phobias are difficult to rationalise.
> 
>    
> On a personal note, please allow me to highlight my own private enjoyment of the phrase, '...majorly thirsting after Scarfield'.  
> Because that's a phrase  
> I bet you *never*  
> thought you'd read ; )


	5. Ash and Iron

I did not trust Eleni enough to leave the knife anywhere in the cabin.

But my dress was _not_ designed to carry sharp-edged magical blades. Or anything, really. I would've thought a pocket would surely exist somewhere in the thing's voluminous folds, but I was apparently wrong. And as easy as they made it look in certain movies, the fact was that trying to strap a knife to your thigh, when you had nothing but flimsy ribbon-laces, was just about impossible.

So I decided to see if I could find something to safely carry it in.

Ignoring me as I hunted through the chest, Eleni flung herself on the bed and idly studied the spell.

Digging through almost to the bottom, I eventually found a brightly embroidered pouch with a long cotton drawstring.

“You can wear that one under your petticoat,” Eleni volunteered offhandedly as I held it up to look at it.

A sudden image of Lieutenant Scarfield’s red face popped, unwanted, into my head. The thought of having to haul up all these layers of dress just to pull out a knife from under my petticoat... no. I began to tie it around the outside of my dress, not caring when Eleni stared at me, aghast.

“Non, non,” she protested. “You should keep it ‘idden! What will the men say? They will ask what you are ‘aving inside it!”

"Then I'll tell them there's a magical knife in it, and if they stare at my neckline too long I'll stab them in the face and turn them into a toad."

“ _Stab_?” Eleni's mouth dropped open. "You – you wouldn't?"

I couldn't help it.

I started to laugh.

Eleni huffed.

"Ah, making the joke," she said sarcastically. "But you should not laugh, it is not funny.”

"Well, if I didn't laugh, I'd probably be crying right now." I said truthfully.

Eleni scowled and lay back, holding the spell in front of her face as if to block me from her sight.

The brightly coloured pouch stuck out from the dress like a sore thumb, but I didn't care. I slipped the knife inside the pouch, and pulled the drawstrings tight around my waist.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Eleni had suddenly sat up, studying her spell intently.

“Found something?” I said.

She started at my voice, before quickly folding it away.

“Non," she said lightly, “It is nothing.”

“Well, if it’s nothing, you won’t mind sharing it with me before dinner, will you?”

From outside our door, the sounds of a muffled conversation between the man Scarfield had told to wait there, and another crewmate, filtered through to us.

“There is no time,” Eleni said, standing and smoothing her dress out. “They ‘ave already come.”

"Uh huh," I said dryly. “How convenient.”

She shrugged in response, a small smirk on her face.

There was a knock on the door.

“Excuse me, Lady Stanhope,” came a gruff voice, “But the Lieutenant just sent word it’s time to escort you and Miss Eleni to dinner.”

“Come,” Eleni swept off towards the door, avoiding all eye contact. “Or we will be late.”

 

* * *

 

We were escorted almost the entire way to the Captain's cabin.

The gruff crewman Scarfield had assigned us walked ahead, barely affording us more than a single annoyed frown once we'd emerged from the cabin, before turning and marching away, apparently expecting us to follow him.

I looked away over the edge of the ship as we walked along the quarterdeck, and wished I was home. The setting sun was a hazy disc of yellow, slipping through the reluctant clouds with a sickly glow. Above, the skies had darkened to a threatening stormy grey. But the usual smell of rain that would accompany storm clouds was not in the air; rather, the breeze carried with it a scent of ash and iron.

As we approached the Captain's cabin at the other end of the ship, we saw a knot of sailors beginning to crowd around the ship's wheel. The helmsman was pointing to something off to the side, on the horizon. One of the others, an officer in uniform, muttered back to the helmsman before lifting an eyeglass.

Our escort stopped, before turning to us. "Sorry, Lady Stanhope," he said, "But best I see what the trouble is."

He joined the others in their low conversation, peering into the distance with them. I moved closer, interested to see what had caught their attention.

The helmsman looked sideways at the officer. "It's not – _them_ , is it?" I heard him ask.

"Vite!" Eleni pulled at my elbow. "You cannot be here! Remember you are supposed to act like Lady Stanhope – not some common peasant –"

I pulled my arm out of her grip. "I'm sure they can grant 'Lady Stanhope' _one_ second's grace."

I turned away, determined to find out what was making the sailors so worried.

The officer turned to our escort. "Get the Captain and the Lieutenant!" he ordered. "Immediately!"

As he hurried past us, I moved even closer. In the distance, I could see an island. I guessed it was St Martin, the island we were going to be arriving at by morning. The island seemed to be walled in: incredibly high and rough-shod barricades blocked off its beaches, visible even from this far away. I could just make out a solitary pier, built far out into the water, the only way in or out a small gateway through the barricades. But it wasn't the barricaded island that everyone was worrying about.

It was the hulking black and grey mass in the east.

At first, I thought it might just be a large rock, jutting out of the sea. Seagulls glided around the hunched, misshapen rock, and it took me a few seconds of watching to realise it was moving.

It wasn't a rock at all.

It was a ship.

Coming straight for us, at a speed that didn't seem natural.

"They still be a long way off, sir," called out a crewman, pulling hurriedly on a rope.

"Distance won't matter," the officer responded from the wheel. "Not with them."

"M'lady," the crewman threw me a terse look, "Best be back in yer cabin now. Not safe up here!"

Before I could even ask what he meant, his face suddenly went blank and he abruptly ducked his head, back to working the ropes again. I became aware of a tense silence behind me and turned to see Lieutenant Scarfield.

"Lady Stanhope," he said quietly, pressing a hand into the small of my back. "Please, you need to be back in your cabin."

His eyes flicked to the approaching ship. "Things are about to get very dangerous!"

"Oui, Lieutenant, I was just saying so - " Eleni sidled up to the Lieutenant's other side. "But she is not sensible!"

Ignoring her, I shifted out of the reach of the Lieutenant's hand, and turned to him.

"That ship - who are they?"

He leant over me, blue eyes bright in his roughened face. "If that ship is who we think it is, the Captain would rather you weren't in the way, and I'd rather you were safely hidden from sight."

Lieutenant Scarfield was too close.

Again.

I stepped back and looked around. "The Captain? Where is he?"

"He will appear when the time is right." Lieutenant Scarfield said in a low tone. "You do not need to concern yourself -"

"Lieutenant!" The officer called. "Lieutenant, it's them! It's really them! It's the Silent Mary!"

The Lieutenant's head whipped around at that, and he was swiftly at the wheel, pressing the officer's eyeglass up to stare at the distant ship through it.

"So," I heard him mutter through tight lips. "Managed to get past our fleet at Montserrat, did he?"

He dropped the eyeglass.

"Run out the nine!" The Lieutenant shouted. "Make that shot loud and clear! Let all of St Martin hear it! This is it, men! We earn our honour today!"

The sailors worked with an efficiency that spoke of hard drill practice, and within the minute, a deafening iron-shot cracked across the waters towards St Martin.

"Shorten the topsails!" The Lieutenant shouted. "Slow us down! We need to buy the others time now to prepare their defenses! So let these Spanish bastards come to us!"

"Come," Eleni urged, "We must 'ide! We cannot be up 'ere!"

She started to pull me away, back in the direction of our cabin, away from the ship’s wheel. Around us, the crew of the Proserpine were working faster than ever, obeying the stream of orders Lieutenant Scarfield shouted, readying the ship for boarding.

"What is it?" I tried to stay close to Eleni in the midst of the chaos. "Tell me what _is_ this Silent Mary, that's got everyone so scared?"

Eleni stopped and stared at me, before seeming to recollect that I had only been here, in Lady Stanhope's body, less than a few hours.

"It's the ghost ship!" She whispered.

She was completely serious.

"The _ghost_ ship?"

"The Silent Mary," she swallowed, "Was destroyed over thirty years ago – but now it 'as come back! For weeks, it 'as been 'unting every ship on the sea down, leaving only one survivor from each ship it destroys – sometimes leaving none!"

"Eleni! Stop talking and let Lady Stanhope return to her cabin!" Lieutenant Scarfield strode swiftly past us, towards several sailors who were rolling large barrels strategically into place around the edges of the ship. "For _once_ , take care of your mistress!" He scowled over his shoulder at her.

Eleni turned to hide her hurt at the Lieutenant's abrupt tone, and stalked abruptly away. I had to literally pick up my skirts to hurry after her, dodging around the sailors rolling and heaving barrel after barrel across the deck.

"Vite," Eleni stopped and snapped, when she saw I was still trying to squeeze around a clump of busy men at the main mast, a good several feet behind her.

"Sorry," I said when I caught up. "I'm sorry."

She looked at me in disdain. "What are _you_ sorry for?"

Even through her hostility, I saw clearly the full measure of her wounded pride, and I felt for her. To be in love with the Lieutenant, who treated her with nothing but scorn, must hurt deeply. And worse, to see him showing affection to someone else, day after day… it was no wonder she was so twisted up about it. It didn't excuse what she did – or had tried to do – but it was understandable.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry he –" I faltered under her hard glare. "I'm just sorry."

"Peuh, tu es désolé?" She scoffed. "The day I care –"

She stopped and stared at something over my shoulder.

I frowned. "What's wrong?"

"They are 'ere!" She whispered, white-faced.

I almost shook my head at her, she had to be joking. "They're still ages away –"

But Eleni looked like she was about to faint. "Mon dieu!"

I turned, and –

The Silent Mary was right on us.

It was enormous.

And it was a wreck.

It started to rise up out of the water before my eyes, making my eardrums ache with its creaking, like a great wooden beast opening its gigantic maw to snap it shut on us. It blocked the sky above us, its dark timbers cast gold in the light of the setting sun, its shadow stretching away across the waters behind it.

"Capitán Salazar!" Lieutenant Scarfield stood firm at the Proserpine's side, shouting up as the ghost ship arched up above us. "We have what you want!"

The ship halted its movements.

Droplets of seawater shimmered through the air, raining down from its soaked hull onto my upturned face.

"We have a Witch for you!"

For a fearful moment, nothing more happened. Scarfield hesitated, one hand coming to rest on the hilt of his sword, before he called out in the tense silence again.

"A real Witch!"

And then, the crew of the Silent Mary began to drop down onto the deck of the Proserpine, swords drawn.

They were like nothing I'd ever seen.

They were ghosts – yet not like ghosts at all. No, these 'ghosts' had weight, and were audible as they landed. And they weren't even ghosts who still looked alive, like some TV shows imagined them. These were more like – the living dead.

Skin that had been burned while they died, now black and flaking, clothes shredded and torn. Small puffs of ash rose into the air every time they moved. And worst of all, every single one of them had arms, legs, torsos – even heads missing. They were walking corpse-ghosts.

Something touched me, and I looked down. Eleni's hand had crept into the folds of my dress, and she pressed against me, terrified at the living-dead ghosts around us. I, however, felt strangely calm.

As the ghosts surrounded us, it occurred to me that my calm was very odd. In the circumstances. I wondered if it might even be a symptom of madness. A clue that perhaps all this was not actually real, but the result of a psychological break from reality. Like in that movie I'd seen once, the one about the mathematician who believed his own delusional fantasies so much that they became his reality. Only, a fantasy about Spanish ghosts boarding a 1700s sailing ship would not be my first choice for an alternate reality.

So perhaps this whole thing was just a hallucination. No rhyme, no reason. Just a fantastical concoction my oxygen-starved subconscious had whipped up in order to escape the pain of not being able to breathe, and I was actually still in that hospital room, with a tube stuck down my throat.

One dropped right in front of us, making Eleni shriek a little at the suddenness of it and clutch at my skirts even tighter. He held a sword at us, and wore an eyepatch, his remaining eye not leaving us once as he pinned us with an unforgiving glare.

"Hold point!" he cried to the others, "And await orders!"

Behind Lieutenant Scarfield, a last figure dropped menacingly down onto the deck.

The entire crew of the Proserpine became deathly still, every man's face a portrait of cold dread. The only sound now was the eerie whistling of the wind in the ship's rigging, the occasional crack of a canvas sail, and the constant sea.

The figure slowly straightened.

I could see at once that the uniform he wore was different to the others.

I could see the charred epaulettes, the longcoat that reached to the back of the knees, and – most distinctive of all – the way his hair floated… like a nightmarish surrealist painting…

He was the Silent Mary's Captain.

"Merde!" Eleni said faintly.

Lieutenant Scarfield stiffened as he slowly turned to face him. Whatever the Lieutenant saw of the ghost's face must've been particularly horrible, because he went even whiter, and could barely utter a syllable as the figure closed the space between them, tapping his sword on the deck with each step. Around us, our ghostly invaders tensed at the sound, but otherwise made no move.

"C-capitán Salazar," the Lieutenant spoke loudly, making a strong effort not to appear afraid. "We found a Witch. We were bringing her to you…"

Capitán Salazar spoke softly in reply – too softly for me to hear his response. But the stiff way he hunched his shoulders, as though he was barely holding himself back from thrusting his sword through Scarfield's chest, left me in no doubt of the danger.

Lieutenant Scarfield seemed to speak quite hurriedly after that. I couldn't help tensing now as well, watching as he was obviously doing his best to convince this Capitán Salazar not to kill us all. There was nothing anyone could do except wait to see what happened. I thought of the knife in the pouch around my waist, and wondered how fast I would be able to get it out if it came down to a fight for survival.

And then suddenly there was movement. Capitán Salazar was ordering his men in Spanish, and four of them went below decks.

Every man on the Proserpine tensed, but no one dared move; and in the silence, Capitán Salazar turned for the first time in our direction. Even from where I stood, I could see his face with horrifying clarity.

Red-tinged eyes.

Black-stained lips.

Skin as grey as cold ash from a dead fire.

That surreal dark hair drifting upwards, revealing blackened cheekbones fracturing into empty space where the back of his skull used to be. And from him, a relentless roll of suffocating bitterness, a rage tinged with ash and iron and blood. He was shrewdly surveying each man on the Proserpine, as though measuring their individual worth; and he did not seem impressed.

Eleni pulled at my dress sharply.

"Stop _staring_!" She hissed out of the side of her mouth.

The Capitán had half-turned back to Scarfield, apparently asking a question. Gesturing in our direction. Specifically, gesturing at _me_.

"Putain de merde!" Eleni swore softly.

Our ghostly captor in front of us tensed again, his one good eye flicking between us, but his sword did not move an inch.

From across the deck, I felt those fire-tinged eyes directly on me again.

"¡Capitán!" the crewmen who'd gone below deck re-emerged, pushing a cloaked woman forward between them, "¡Capitán! ¡La encontramos!"

At once Capitán Salazar turned in anticipation as the woman approached. She stopped short of him, apparently refusing to go any further. The Capitán pushed back her hood with the tip of his sword. The woman was completely bald. Encircling her head were lines and lines of what looked like the delicate strokes of an old language, foreign words in blood-red ink. She looked at the ghost in front of her without fear.

"You wanted a Witch. Here I am." Her surprisingly cultured voice smoothed across the deck, easily heard by all – and it sent a strong shiver of cold prickling across my skin, exactly the same way the knife had felt when I'd picked it up. "I am Shansa, the only Witch left of the Caribbean Seas."

For the first time I clearly heard the Capitán speak.

"Sí," he said. "Then you can give me answers."

"The cost is blood." She said unequivocally.

Next to me, Eleni swore again under her breath. "Always the blood with her," she muttered.

I frowned at her, but Eleni refused to elaborate.

Capitán Salazar laughed; a hoarse, rasping sound. "Do I look like I have any more blood to give?"

Shansa tipped her head to him. "When the time comes to pay, you will. Whether it's yours, or someone else's."

She turned to look around the deck. She paused when she saw me, her eyebrows lifting in surprise. But then she promptly turned back to face Capitán Salazar again, continuing to speak in that languid voice that still somehow filled the entire deck.

"I know what you're going to ask," I heard her say. "You want to know why your Curse didn't break with the Trident?"

The Capitán nodded slowly.

"Why," Shansa said, a harsh note creeping into her voice for the first time, "With Jack Sparrow's murder, and the Trident's destruction, you are still Cursed?"

"Murder?" his lips drew back over blackened teeth, and black fluid trickled over his chin. "You think it was _murder_?"

"And what else would it be?"

His eyes brightened feverishly in rage as he let out a stream of curses in Spanish.

At the Capitán's side, Scarfield almost imperceptibly straightened, eyes on his own crew.

"Is it murder," Capitán Salazar craned his head forward, "To kill the one responsible for killing me?"

Shansa nodded, still amazingly unafraid. "You should have chosen mercy."

The Capitán growled, and raised his sword to eye level, pointing it directly at the woman in front of him. "There is no mercy left. And there will be none for you, if you do not tell me how to break our Curse!"

Suddenly, from the direction of St Martin, there was a distant boom - and then the Silent Mary caught a cannonball in its dilapidated hull.

At once, Lieutenant Scarfield abruptly barked, " _Now_ , men!"

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FRENCH AND SPANISH TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> Vite - Hurry/Quickly
> 
> Tu es désolé ? - You're sorry?
> 
> Merde - basic French Swearing
> 
> Putain de merde! – just more colourful French Swearing. It has a few different meanings, so I'll let you look it up and make up your mind what she might've been saying...
> 
> La encontramos - We found her
> 
> AUTHOR'S NOTE: Inspiration kudos to @piratesangel on Tumblr, especially in regards to discussions about magic, the characters I have included in this fic, and overall being a wonderful sounding board as I write!


	6. The Queen Anne's Revenge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For brevity, I refer to the Queen Anne's Revenge simply as Queen Anne.

_Suddenly, from the direction of St Martin, there was a distant boom - and then the Silent Mary caught a cannonball in its dilapidated hull._

_At once, Lieutenant Scarfield abruptly barked, "Now, men!"_

 

* * *

 

And then several things seemed to happen at once.

Every crewman of the Proserpine stationed near barrels swung short axes at them, chopping frantically through the wood.

"Hurry, men!" Scarfield shouted. "The Queen Anne is on her way!"

But before Capitán Salazar could turn, the Witch arrested his attention with a burst of laughter.

"Now you'll see," she grinned with rotten teeth, "The consequences of your lack of mercy!"

And, between one second and the next, Shansa, the last Witch of the Caribbean, disappeared into thin air.

"¡Carajo!" The Capitán was enraged. "¡Despreciable puta!"

Two more low booms echoed in the distance, followed by a deafening _crack_! _crack!_ as the Silent Mary caught two more cannonballs simultaneously in her hull. Slipping across the waters towards us was an enormous three-masted ship, twin cannons in its front, firing as it came.

"By the gods of sea and sky," A gruff voice rang out over the commotion. "I have a reckoning with one Spanish bastard!"

Standing at the Proserpine's wheel, a bearded man with a wooden peg leg balanced, holding a heavy sword high.

"Like the new additions, Capitán? I fitted those bow-chasers just out of courtesy, yer plague-eaten rat!"

"Who the…?" I stared.

"It's our Captain! Captain Barbossa – and he's bringing the Queen Anne!" Eleni crowed, with a triumphant glance at our guard. "Là, ça va être ta fête!"

Captain Barbossa burst out into crazed laughter as, in sync with the movements of his sword, the approaching ship drew up swiftly to flank the Silent Mary. Multiple cannon-ports were flung open in its side, and cannon after cannon rolled out, pointed at the Spanish ship.

"Go back ter hell, yer Spanish bastards," cried Captain Barbossa. "An' take yer bitch of a ship with yer!"

Capitán Salazar sneered, and called back, "Gracias for the invitation, cabrón, but I think hell is better suited to you!"

A barrage of explosions split the air as the Queen Anne's cannons fired in synthesised unity with the continued frenzy of a dozen axes chopping into the barrels.

The ghosts of the Silent Mary, confused by all the action, and uncertain of their orders, were unprepared to prevent what happened next.

The barrels broke apart, spilling streams of dirt across the wooden planks.

One of the Silent Mary's crew gave an abrupt shout, as a cloud of dirt sprayed across him.

I watched, unable to comprehend, as his horrified face sank in on itself mid-cry, crumbling into a formless cloud of black and grey dust.

At once, a heart-stopping chord of anguish rose up from the crew of the Silent Mary at his loss.

Our own guard whipped his head around at the sound.

He gave an incoherent sob, half-Spanish and all grief, falling to his knees as he watched the ashes dissipate into the air.

But Capitán Salazar was swift to retaliate. He struck his sword on the deck, three times in succession, and the sound revitalised the anguished ghosts of the Silent Mary. They turned and began at once to fight against Scarfield's men, their loss fuelling the merciless slaughter.

Capitán Salazar then turned and closed in on Lieutenant Scarfield, sword drawn – but my view of them was hidden as our guard got slowly to his feet.

Eleni shrieked and scurried behind me as the ghost turned to face us.

"Lo siento, Señoritas," he grimaced, lifting his sword up, "But now is your end."

I let my hand fall to my side, against where the knife was still in its pouch.

"Please," I raised my voice clearly over the tumult around us, "I'm sorry you lost your friend –"

"Silencio!" he snarled. "You know nothing about him!"

"I know. But I'm still sorry."

His single eye blinked.

"Please, sir," Eleni begged, looking at him with fearful eyes over my shoulder. "Please don't kill us!"

He stared between me and Eleni.

"Mon dieu, but we are only women, sir!" She pleaded with him.

"It doesn't matter," he muttered, "Orders are orders. And El Capitán has ordered death."

I let my fingers loosen the drawstrings of my pouch, keeping my eyes on him the entire time, and trying to keep my movements as small as possible.

"I understand," I told him, before adding, "An hour ago, I might even have let you kill me – only I don't know anymore if that'll get me home."

He stopped, thrown by my strange words. I used his hesitation to draw the knife out fast, holding it between us.

"You're going to let us leave," I told him. "You're going to let us get in – in –"

I fumbled mentally for a second, trying to think what they called lifeboats in the 1700s. If they even had any.

"The smallboat!" Eleni supplied.

"Yes – the smallboat, and let us leave!"

He looked from the knife to me with incredulity.

"Señorita, that will have no effect on me –"

"The Witch gave it to me," I lied confidently. "She cursed the blade so that it'll hurt you!"

I started to shuffle backwards, made difficult by the fact that Eleni refused to stop clinging to me; but I kept on, never letting my eyes leave the ghost in front of us, and certainly not looking towards the awful sounds of death around us.

He watched without moving, and I could see he was trying to decide if he believed me about the knife or not.

Suddenly, he was not alone.

"Lieutenant Lesaro."

The Capitán was next to him.

Eleni squeaked and buried her face between my shoulder blades, halting all progress.

"Disobeying my direct order, Lieutenant?"

Lesaro lowered his eyes respectfully, but his Capitán barely glanced at him, his gaze on me.

"Forgive me, Capitán," Lesaro responded.

"Sí, sí, sí, I understand," Capitán Salazar answered. "A beautiful woman is before you, and suddenly it is difficult to follow orders, eh?"

His Lieutenant didn't know what to say.

"Ahora ve, Lesaro," Salazar dismissed him, "And show Barbossa the precious cordiality he shows us."

Lesaro left at once, but not before his eyes slid towards us, a brief second of regret on his face.

Capitán Salazar stalked the short distance between us, his sword raised.

I gripped the knife tighter, angling it up towards him.

"One step closer and this knife will end your existence!" I threatened.

I had no idea if it would injure him at all, but I had nothing else.

"Non, non, non, non, oh mon dieu!" Eleni sobbed behind me.

The Capitán moved with the precision of an expert swordsman. He whirled his sword to my left, as though to strike my shoulder, and stupidly, my eyes followed his feint.

Using my distraction, his hand closed over the fist I held the knife in ...

... and immediately, a caustic heat jolted up from his touch through my bones and directly into my chest.

The feeling was so strong, and so scorching _hot_ , it knocked all the air out of my lungs.

We stared at eachother, locked together in shock.

"¿Qué ha sido eso?" he said hoarsely.

But even if I'd understood him, I couldn't speak; the scorching sensation was still so strong. Shaking his head, as though attempting to dislodge the feeling himself, he wrenched the knife painfully from my grasp, letting it drop to the deck.

"You do not deserve a weapon," he jerked me close, away from Eleni, towards his chest. "If you do not know how to use it."

This close, I could see every detail of his face.

His charred skin, cracked through like aged stone.

His dark eyes, holding the faintest tinge of red.

And, as constantly moving as the sea, his corporeal nimbus of drifting hair: the dark halo of a fallen angel.

"Why do you look at me like that?" he frowned. "Why aren't you afraid?"

Around us continued the clash of swords, the screams and grunts of dying men, and the stench of blood.

He continued staring down at me, black bile wetting his lips, puzzled.

"So unusual…" he murmured. "Your face… it changes..."

He gripped me even tighter, and asked, "Who are you?"

"You're hurting me!" I winced.

I started to struggle – until I felt the faint prick of his sword tip on my neck, and froze. In my peripheral vision, I could see his sword arm was straight out, and ready to plunge it through the side of my throat. An involuntary whimper escaped my mouth.

"Shhh, shhh, Señorita," he soothed. "Tell me who you are, and I'll let you live to tell the tale."

"I can't!" I blurted. "I can't!"

He studied me, tilting his head slightly as he did, so close to me now that I could hear the painful rasp of his breathing.

"So be it, then." His expression became cold. "Adios, unusual Señorita!"

The tip of his sword pressed harder against my neck.

This was it.

He was going to kill me. And I somehow knew I wouldn't wake up back in my body. This was going to be how I died. He made no further move, however, still watching me, an unreadable expression on his face.

"If you're going to do it, do it quickly," I choked out. "Please."

I closed my eyes, waiting for the mortal blow to come...

"Unhand that lady!"

It was Lieutenant Scarfield: bloodied and bruised, but still standing, ready with his sword.

Capitán Salazar turned to face him, but did not release me immediately.

"Do you have trouble dying, Señor?" he asked, with cold humour.

"You think," Scarfield sneered at the Capitán, "That I'm so easy to kill?"

"Then allow one of my men to assist you," Salazar snorted contemptuously, turning back to face me.

Scarfield leapt forward, seemingly without warning.

But Capitán Salazar proved himself once again a master of strategy: meeting Scarfield's attempt with so much swift assurance it was obvious he'd provoked Scarfield deliberately.

"Go!" Scarfield hissed at me, as he struggled against the Capitán's blade. "Get behind the dirt! Save yourself!"

But I was too stunned to move.

"You think she can run?" Salazar let out a wheezing chuckle. "No one escapes me!"

He kicked out at Scarfield's feet, causing him to stumble back.

"Until that Witch breaks my curse, there's no mercy for anyone!"

"I won't let you take another ship!" Scarfield found his feet and grunted as his swordblade struck the Capitán's with a loud clang. "You made a mistake when you sank Barbossa's ships! And you _really_ made a mistake when you tried to kill his daughter!"

Salazar shrugged.

"She lives, I hear – and with that idiot Turner boy!" He deflected another clumsy strike of Scarfield's with ease. "So, this is what makes you side with the pirates?"

"I side with the living!" Scarfield retorted.

"And now you can join the dead!"

Salazar turned Scarfield's next swing away easily, before twisting his sword to slice into Scarfield's side. He fell, clutching his side, blood trickling between his fingers.

"Such a foolish thing, to use that Witch to try and deceive _me_!" Salazar looked down at him. "And for what?"

"You're a murderer!" Scarfield was breathing heavily. "You've killed innocent people!"

The Capitán laughed, a wheezing laugh. "No one who joins with a pirate is innocent!"

He whirled his arm to cut down in a fierce swing, and Scarfield lifted his sword in time to catch the Capitán's blade, its salt-eroded edge scraping down Scarfield's polished steel with a supernatural force.

Scarfield was going to die.

It wasn't fair.

It was wrong.

I had no idea what to do, but I had to try something. Looking around, I saw a clod of dirt some feet away, near where Eleni stood, frozen in horror as she watched Scarfield battling the Capitán. I crouched and squeezed it in my fist, and stood again.

With a deep breath, I shouted, "Stop!"

Cannonfire smothered my voice.

At the ship's wheel, Captain Barbossa was fighting Lieutenant Lesaro, and mid-attack had used his sword to send another volley at the Mary.

Capitán Salazar pulled away from Scarfield and prepared to strike again.

In the brief reprieve from the deafening sounds of the cannons, I shouted again.

" _Stop_! Or I'll – I'll throw this!"

The Capitán snapped his head towards me immediately, his sword still mid-air.

I lifted my fist of dirt.

The Capitán straightened slowly, a look of wariness on his face.

"Let him go!" I shouted over the noise of another round of cannonfire.

His gaze sharpened.

"Leave or I'll throw this in your face!"

The Capitán started to smile. I could see he didn't believe me.

"Go!" I told Scarfield hurriedly, who was staring up at me in horror. "Go, dammit!"

The Capitán had lost all interest in Scarfield, and began to advance towards me.

"Ah, the unusual Señorita..." he grinned. "Back with another weapon she doesn't have the courage to use."

I saw Eleni hurry over to crouch down beside Scarfield before the Capitán blocked my view of them.

"You want to kill me, Señorita?" The Capitán asked, stopping just in front of me.

I clutched the dirt in my sweaty hand.

"I want you – not to kill anyone else!" I told him.

"Then throw it," he goaded me. "Throw your little fistful of mud."

I couldn't. I didn't have it in me. The anguish of the others was still fresh in my ears, the keen bitter sorrow they'd felt at the death of one of their own...

"If you don't, _I_ might kill you," he said, almost encouragingly.

I stayed mute.

"Should I kill you, then, Señorita?" he wondered out loud, like it was a new idea.

In spite of his mockery, I hesitated.

For a single second, I wondered again what would happen if I _did_ die. Could it send me back? And if it did, what would happen to the real Lady Stanhope? If everything _did_ work out, Eleni could just try some other stupid spell again…

There were too few certainties. And too much that could go wrong.

I shook my head. "If I have to, I'll defend myself."

"So, you would kill me?" he asked softly. "Because I don't think you would."

He nodded towards my hand.

"I will give you one chance. Drop it, or it's adios!"

I glanced behind him.

Eleni was still struggling to help Scarfield to his feet, but she'd cleverly used her hands to sweep a line of dirt around them. They were safe. At once, I let the dirt fall out of my hand onto the deck beside my feet, carefully wiping my sweat-soaked hand clean down my dress, watching the Capitán. If I had to pick the safest direction to make a run for it, the only direction was behind me. But that meant turning my back on him, hoping I made it to the side of the ship in time to jump over. And flinging myself over the edge didn't seem to have great odds for survival. That left only the possibility of making a run for the barrels still trickling dirt near Eleni and Scarfield.

I tensed, getting ready to move.

The Capitán tilted his head again, in that odd way he had; as though interested to see what I would do.

I bolted.

He was in front of me before I took two steps, his hand over my wrist again, his fierce, determined face in mine.

"No, no, Señorita," he said, "There is no escaping me!"

I didn't stop to be afraid, I didn't let myself.

I balled up a fist, and threw a punch.

He shifted back, so that it barely glanced off his jaw.

In spite of the pathetic hit, my knuckles still stung like hell.

He looked almost amused.

"Try again, Señorita," he mocked, before twisting me in his grasp so that I spun around, my arm jammed up painfully behind my back.

He started to quickly push me away across the deck – towards the Silent Mary.

"Beatrice!" I heard Scarfield cry. " _Beatrice_!"

"Come, Señorita!" Capitán Salazar pushed me forward.

"No, no, John!" shrieked Eleni behind us. "S'il vous plait! Stay!"

"Cease fire!" Scarfield was yelling. "Barbossa! They have a hostage! Cease fire!"

But Scarfield's commands went unheard, as another round of cannonfire crashed into the Silent Mary.

"John! You'll die!" Eleni cried desperately.

I tried to turn to look, even as I was pushed, stumbling and skidding over the deck, and saw Eleni barely able to hold Scarfield back behind the line of dirt, even in spite of his wound.

Scarfield shoved Eleni away and staggered out after Salazar.

"Come back here, damn you!"

Salazar turned towards one of his crew nearby, who was wiping his sword clean of the blood from a body at his feet.

"Nico," he addressed the ghost casually, before inclining his head towards Scarfield. "Matarlo."

The ghost turned towards Scarfield.

"Fuck," I muttered.

Scarfield was going to get himself killed.

"Eleni!" I shouted over my shoulder, as I struggled to slow Salazar down. "Get him back!"

"Mademoiselle, 'e thinks you are 'is Lady! You must tell 'im!" Eleni cried. "Tell 'im you are not Lady Stanhope!"

Scarfield half-turned towards her, furrowing his brow, blood loss making him unsteady on his feet.

The one called Nico was striding towards Scarfield, sword in hand.

I dug my heels into the hard wood and tried to pull back from my captor with all the strength my body had.

The Capitán hissed something at me that I couldn't hear over the noise of the cannons, but I was not going to let Scarfield die. Not for me.

"Let _go_!" I shouted in his face.

"¡Déjen de pelear!" He snarled back.

I tried to stamp on his boots, tried to tear my arm out from his grip, but this body wasn't as strong as my own – Lady Stanhope was not a woman who'd ever had to fight or be physically strong in her life, ever, and all my efforts made no difference.

"See how the kitten scratches!" He taunted.

"Fuck you!" I snarled back in rage. "I _won't_ let you kill him! I won't let him die for me!"

Bitter white smoke from the unceasing cannonfire was starting to roll around us.

"You want a hostage," I shouted. "Take me! Take me, but don't kill him!"

In the thickening smoke, his eyes seemed to glow even redder.

"You are telling _me_ what to do, Señorita?"

I knew I was balancing on a knife's edge.

"I'll stop fighting you, just – just spare him!"

"Nico, subirlo a bordo," he commanded his man suddenly. "¡Vamos a tomar a los dos!"

Salazar spun me around and pulled me back against him, wrapping one arm tightly around my waist, and the other around my neck, pressing across my throat.

I gasped and tried to pull his arm away

"Come, Señorita," he breathed coldly in my ear, "You promised not to fight, eh?"

My vision started to go purple around the edges.

"St- ” I tried to gasp out.

As my vision darkened, I saw Scarfield's panicked face through the thick smoke, tinged red and gold in the rays of the setting sun, and then everything drifted into black.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FRENCH AND SPANISH TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> ¡Carajo! ¡Despreciable puta! – Basically… he says something pretty rude
> 
> Là, ça va être ta fête – The literal translation is, ‘It’s your turn for a party’; meaning, ‘Now you’re in for it!’
> 
> Ahora ve – Now go
> 
> ¿Qué ha sido eso? – What was that?
> 
> Matarlo – Kill him
> 
> ¡Déjen de pelear! – Stop fighting
> 
> Subirlo a bordo – Bring him aboard
> 
> ¡Vamos a tomar a los dos! – We are going to take both
> 
> AUTHOR'S NOTES:
> 
> Bow-chasers: Cannons that point forward of the ship, presumably to fire at the enemy ahead. Not as damaging as the broadside cannonfire, but enough to cause mayhem. (Similar to Stern-chasers: cannons fitted in the rear of a ship, to help slow down a pursuing enemy)
> 
>  In terms of the rules regarding Salazar's men not being able to step on land, I have taken some liberties with canon (i.e. the use of dirt onboard a ship as a means of attack), mostly since the 'rules' appear up for debate amongst fans.


	7. The Prisoner

The sounds of heavy footsteps above brought me swimming back to consciousness. I groaned as a queue of pain began to clamour immediately for attention: telling me I was cold, I was bruised, and I was lying on something hard and uncomfortable. I opened my eyes. Dim, bluish light told me it was early evening. Above me, I blearily distinguished a low ceiling of grey wooden planks.

The footsteps stopped.

I strained to hear more, but there was nothing. Just the mellow sounds of the sea, and the occasional creak of the ship… But there was no more cannonfire. No more shouts or screams. Whatever the outcome of the battle had been, it appeared to be over for now.

I turned my head a little. I could see corroded iron bars surrounding me, and a rusted padlock securing the battered-looking door. I was a prisoner. In the brig, I guessed; though it was little more than a cage, barely six feet across. I sat up with another groan. I felt like I'd been hit by a bus, and then slammed into concrete a few times for good measure. One of my arms was covered in long oval-shaped bruises – marks left by the Capitán's grip; and it felt like I had more on my chest and back. I had no recollection of anything after being choked out.

A pained wheeze punctured the quiet. I twisted around, afraid I would see Capitán Salazar – but it wasn't him.

Scarfield lay unconscious on the rotting floorboards, his uniform soaked through with blood. Crawling over to him, I saw he was still alive – but his breathing was shallow.

"Beatrice…" he opened his eyes a little.

Oh, shit.

Scarfield was conscious, trying to focus on me as I knelt beside him. I had no idea what to do: the blood was everywhere. His coat and vest was gone, and the shirt he wore was more red than white, a tear in the side where he'd been wounded by Capitán Salazar's sword.

"We should – we should at least take your shirt off," I said, trying to sound like I knew what I was doing.

He closed his eyes and swallowed.

"No." he said. "No – don't take it off – yet… just – pull… it apart. I need to see."

I gingerly pulled the shirt apart wider. A nasty gash curved up from his hip to just below his ribs, the skin on both sides swollen and angry looking, and still bleeding sluggishly. Scarfield sucked in a breath through his teeth and fell back, worn out from just the little amount of effort he'd made.

"I'll survive," he murmured, eyes closed. "Had worse. Can you – do you have anything to – to bind it?"

I looked down. All I had was what I was wearing. But it was better than nothing.

"Yes," I told him. "Just give me a moment."

I turned away, reached up under my dress, and slid off the petticoat. Stepping out of it, I lifted it up, examining it for seams. The petticoat had definitely been made by someone with a rapturous passion for frills and flounces. It was impossible to even find which way to begin. Eventually I gave up and just started to tear at it – and fortunately, it tore easily. I soon had several ragged but serviceable strips with which to wrap him in.

When I knelt back down beside him, he insisted again on sitting up. I helped him remove his bloodied shirt, so that I could wind the long strips around his chest and waist. He was lucid enough to give me some direction as to how to tie each strip off, and when I was finally done he lay back down, exhausted.

"Thank you," he murmured.

"No problem," I said automatically.

He opened his eyes to look at me curiously.

"Pardon?"

Dammit. Once again, I'd forgotten to be Lady Stanhope. I'd forgotten this was the 1700s. As innocuous as it was, no one in this time period said, 'No problem'. I turned away to hide my panic.

"Try and rest," I said neutrally, my back to him.

"I will…" he murmured.

Overhead, I heard the footsteps start again – slower this time, as though their owner was deep in thought.

Scarfield started to speak again.

"You know…" he said drowsily, "I don't regret anything Beatrice. I want you to know that. I'll never regret meeting you. I was – so angry, when your uncle sent me to fetch you. I'd been slated to be – leaving on the Essex… sailing to win the Trident for the glory –" he snorted a little, "Of the British crown… _glory_. Stupid word. I used to think it was so important… but that was before I met you. The only glory worth having is just the glory of being in your presence, my darling..."

His voice trailed off.

A few minutes later, I heard the unmistakable sounds of his deep and even breathing behind me, and drew in a deep breath of relief myself. I'd never felt more awkward and uncomfortable, listening to his feelings. As he slept, I looked around again at the small cage we were in. It was barely big enough to move more than six short steps from side to side, but I was so full of nervous energy, I couldn't help pacing.

Icy cold shivered over my skin in the gradually darkening cell, and I crossed my arms, trying to keep warm as I paced.

A soft creak between the door and the bars halted me.

Someone else was there.

"What do you want?" I called out.

There was no response. And yet I could feel it. Someone – or _something_ – was watching us. I strained to see, but it was too dark now to make anything out.

"Who are you?"

A faint chuckle greeted my demand, and another shiver swept over me. I hated being afraid. I was on a shipful of ghosts, and there was one right here, probably having a big old laugh scaring me.

"Listen here, you little bastard," I hissed into the dark, "I've faced scarier things than you, so either tell me what you're here for or _fuck off_."

There was absolute silence.

And then, clear as a bell, a male voice answered, "All in good time, love. All in good time!"

 _Definitely not Spanish_ , I immediately realised. In fact, their accent sounded vaguely like a cockney accent, which was strange, since I could have sworn all the crew of the Silent Mary were distinctly Spanish. And more than that, it sounded like it belonged to someone far too cheerfully amused to be any of the crew I'd met so far... I strained to see who the owner of the voice was, but I couldn't make out anyone else in the brig. 

Suddenly, there was the sound of Spanish voices above us, followed by a door opening and closing, and a burst of insistent arguing. I heard several swear words in French being fired out rapidly.

 _Eleni…?_ I frowned.

A low growl that I thought might be the Capitán's voice followed, and then more low conversation between him and who I was now positive was Eleni. I tried hard to distinguish the words being said, but it was impossible. The sound of a door opening once more seemed to mark the end of whatever was being said.

"What's going on up there, do you know?" I asked my mysterious visitor – but he seemed to have gone.

And then the door in the far end of the room rattled and opened, and a figure strode towards our cage.

"¡Levántate!"

It was Lieutenant Lesaro. He forced a key in the rusted padlock.

"¡Levántate!" he repeated coldly to Scarfield. "You are wanted."

Scarfield struggled to sit up. I helped him to stand, feeling Lesaro's restrained impatience as he waited. Scarfield draped a heavy arm across my shoulders.

"Just one step at a time," I reassured him. I helped Scarfield take a step towards the open door of the cage.

"Not you, Señorita," Lesaro was firm. "You are to stay."

I shook my head at him. "If I don't help him, he's not going to make it."

The iciness of Lesaro's demeanour could've frozen the Antarctic.

"Oh?" He raised his eyebrow. "My heart weeps."

"If he can't make it, you'll be disobeying orders!" I snapped.

Lesaro's single-eyed glare cut into me. "Then so be it."

"It's – it's perfectly alright," Scarfield's voice was hoarse with effort. "I can do it, Beatrice. Don't – don't antagonise them. I'll be back, I promise."

Scarfield pulled himself from me, staggering a little as he found his balance, clutching at the iron bars, before slowly straightening, and managing to take a step out of the cage.

Lesaro slid the door shut at once with a loud clang, and locked it.

"Capitán Salazar will come to speak with you shortly, Señorita," Lesaro said. "Pray he is in a more generous mood by then."

 

* * *

 

As the bluish light outside deepened, and pitch black began to stifle all senses, I paced faster. _What was happening up there? What was taking Scarfield so long?_

"Please let someone come soon," I whispered.

I was losing air. I tried to slow my breathing, like I'd been told to do whenever I started to panic, but it was getting harder and harder to do. This was a shrinking box, edges moving closer and closer to me no matter how I tried to keep pacing around, and soon I wouldn't be able to move at all. I stopped pacing when dizziness started to take over, and wrapped my fists around the iron bars, fantasising about shaking the cage apart in a wild rush of power, crashing up through the ceiling into the fresh night air.

The iron bars were badly corroded, and as I grated the palms of my hands around them in frustration, I heard the damp rust flaking off in a shower onto the floor.

A lot of rust.

On an instinct, I tapped the bars with one foot. More rust crumbled onto the grey rotted floorboards. I listened to see if anyone would come to investigate the sound I'd made, but there was no one. I studied the bars, remembering Eleni telling me it had been thirty years…

Thirty years of exposure to seawater and air.

Thirty years of corrosion.

My eye on the dark outline of the door at the end of the room, I decided to risk it. I drew my foot back, and gave a firm kick to one of the bars. It snapped at once out of its welding, and I grabbed onto it in shock before it could hit the floor. I waited, breath caught in my throat.

Still no one came – but now I was glad no one did.

I pulled the bar carefully inside the cell.

The body of the bar was still strong, though badly rusted – I could not bend or break it. I felt the ends, jagged where it had snapped. Perhaps a weaker metal had been used to weld it, speeding up its corrosion. Or perhaps it was just too old and badly made. In the end, it didn't matter.

If it was this easy, even in the body I was in, to kick a bar out…

I almost grinned in triumph. I might be able to get out of here.

Suddenly I heard footsteps, coming down wooden steps. Coming down towards me.

Swearing under my breath, I hurriedly managed to wedge the iron bar back in place, and prayed it would stay.

The next moment, the Capitán appeared – but not at the door. He melted through the walls like they were nothing, his coat floating out behind him, his eyes shining in the dark, as he came to a halt in front of the cage. He stood there, sword seemingly loose in his hand – but one look at his face and I know he could force that sword through my heart between one beat and the next, without even flinching.

Finally, he spoke. "Who are you?"

Something about the way he was looking at me told me I couldn't lie. And I instinctively knew I couldn't tell him I was Lady Stanhope – especially after what Eleni had said in front of him before. But the truth?

"Where's Eleni?" I deflected.

"The French girl?" he said softly. "She offered a bargain. An exchange. Which I confess, I am considering…"

I frowned, wondering what on earth Eleni had offered Capitán Salazar that would interest him.

He leant in close to the bars. "She had quite a tale to tell me. About you."

"I bet she did," I muttered. "How much did she tell you?"

"No more than what I already suspected." He became impatient, and his sword-hand twitched. "I do not like repeating myself, Señorita. Tell me your name."

I couldn't.

I knew how it would be.

Answering one question, would just open the floodgates to more questions. One answer became many answers. And anything I said could irrevocably change the future. And then the future I returned to – _if_ I returned – would not be the same one I left.

"It doesn't matter," I told him. "My name's not important."

There was a long silence.

Then, directing an abrupt command in Spanish towards the door, Capitán Salazar took a step back from the bars.

Lieutenant Lesaro appeared through the door again at one end of the room, followed by two other crewman, carrying a barely conscious Scarfield between them. He unlocked and held the cage open, and without ceremony, they thrust him through the door. I barely had time to catch him from hitting the floor, as Lesaro re-locked the door and handed the key to the Capitán, before all of them left. I did not dare look at the broken bar while I knew I was being watched, but at least it hadn't fallen yet. I was intensely grateful that I'd wedged it back hard enough not to have fallen when the cage door had slammed shut.

I risked a glance up to see that Capitán Salazar was still standing there. His eyes flicked to Scarfield, as I did my best to lay him gently down on the floor.

"Thank you," Scarfield whispered, before falling unconscious again.

Capitán Salazar clicked his tongue in disappointment.

"Pity he still lives, eh?" He sneered. "You should let him die, Señorita, it would be much kinder."

I shook my head, but didn't answer. Instead, I reached for the sad remains of the petticoat, and started to ball it up into a pillow.

"You don't agree?"

"I think your idea of kindness is very different to mine," I said, lifting Scarfield's head and sliding the makeshift pillow underneath.

He lifted his eyebrows a little, coming even closer.

The floorboards creaked. I swallowed, hoping the loose bar wouldn't fall.

"Stand up," he commanded.

Bristling at the order, but unable to do anything else, I stood and faced him.

He studied me for a full minute, his wheezing breath scraping in the quiet, his eyes still holding the faintest glimmer of red in their black depths. I had never had anyone look at me the way he was looking at me right now. I didn't know what to do with my hands, I didn't know if it was better to look down at the floor or look directly back at him; he held the power of life and death for the Lieutenant passed out unconscious in the brig with me, and angering him with a mere look was not only possible, but probable - and would be the worst thing I could do.

When he suddenly and abruptly stalked forward, _right through the bars_ , I stumbled backwards from him in alarm, too shocked to even scream. I hit the rough wooden wall hard behind me, grazing my elbows and winding myself.

"Still! Be _still_ , Señorita!" He drew his lips back in a snarl, hissing, "I want to see your face!"

He stood so close now that there was barely three inches between us; and here in the brig, without the noise of cannonfire or the smell of bitter smoke, I became uncomfortably aware of so much more. For the first time I could hear the way his stiff, burnt coat crackled and rustled with his movements, the smell of old blood that came from each rasping exhale, and the bright sheen on the black fluid that seemed to permanently trickle out of his mouth and down his chin.

"Why won't you tell me who you are?" he asked harshly, staring hard at me. "You do not speak like the others. Where are you from?"

I was fairly certain the place I'd been born in didn't even exist yet, but there was no way to explain _that_ either. Not without explaining everything else. So I went for the most obvious, hoping it didn't conflict with whatever Eleni had already told him.

"I'm not Lady Stanhope. I'm – an imposter," I swallowed at the intensity of his gaze, and hurried on, "I'm just pretending to be her... to get to St Martin."

He was silent, measuring me, his disbelief evident in the way the corner of his mouth twitched.

"An imposter…" His gaze flicked again to the unconscious man on the floor, and his next words were soft, as if he restrained his apparent incredulity. "And yet, that man believes you're the woman he proposed to..."

"I'm not." I admitted faintly. "I just – I just look like her."

"Do you?" he tilted his head again, and this time he did not restrain the sharp bite to his words. "To me, you do not look the way the others see you. I know this, because I took other prisoners."

Quicker than I could follow, his hand moved: he was pulling on a loose lock of hair that had escaped to trail over my shoulder, twining it around his finger. I pressed myself back into the wall, too terrified to move as he wound it around and through his knuckles, seemingly distracted for a moment.

"And when I questioned them…" he looked back at me shrewdly, tugging on the lock of hair, "About the bella dama with the long hair the colour of the sunset, they were confused. They told me there was no such lady. There was only a French maid, and Lady Stanhope… and neither of them have red and gold hair." He pulled on the lock of hair again, forcing me to lean closer, until there was barely an inch now between us. "But I know what I see."

For a moment, I was too overwhelmed to speak. He could _see_ me?

His eyes glittered with a kind of curious malice as he drank in my expression, and I felt his wheezing breath, cool against my flushed skin.

"I see you," his eyes roved over my face. "And I _feel_ you – there is magic, all around you. You've been taken and forced into this body, haven't you, Señorita?"

I tried to shake my head, but the movement as it yanked the lock of hair he still had wrapped around his hand made me gasp in pain.

"Is that a no?" He asked.

My hands started to sweat at how close he was, and my dry throat was threatening to close up.

"Are you telling me I am _wrong_?"

I couldn't deny it, and yet I had no idea how it was possible that he could see me. I wanted to deny it –  _needed_ to, because I knew what his next questions might be. I struggled to think of the safest way to answer, _any_ way that would not mean having to talk about myself or where I had come from. Unhelpfully, my brain flashed the image of the last time he'd looked at me this way – on the Proserpine – the way he'd stalked the deck, entirely focused on me, inquisitive interest mixed with cold mercilessness in this same hard stare, before it had fractured into shock once he'd put his hand over my wrist.

I remembered then what Eleni said: that even if everyone else thought I looked like Lady Stanhope, those with magic could see what I really looked like. Could see my _real_ face. And Capitán Salazar's very existence was nothing if not by magic. Dark magic, but magic nevertheless... that was how he was able to see me.

"No," I finally whispered. "No, you're right. I'm – this isn't my body."

His eyes were bright, with a feverish sharpness to them that made me afraid. "So you are not his fiancée?"

For a moment I was completely bewildered. It was such a strange question. Strange, that after telling me he knew I was in another woman's body, that this was the first thing he'd think of asking.

"No." I said quietly. "No, I'm not his fiancée." 

I looked away towards the unconscious Lieutenant, glad to see he was still asleep, and that he wasn't awake to hear this. I couldn't imagine how he'd cope, finding out that another woman had been shoved into the body of his fiancée. In his state, the knowledge might put Scarfield into complete shock; he might not recover. That is, if he even accepted it in the first place.

A sly expression came over the Capitán's face, and he leaned back a little, letting the lock of hair slip back out of his fingers to rest over my shoulder. "And yet, you have so much compassion for him, bandaging his wounds, being so _attentive_..."

"Anyone would," I swallowed, irrationally nervous at his subtle insinuations. "He was injured, trying to save me. Bandaging him… is the least I could do."

"Is that so?"

I didn't answer.

His eyes reddened with irritation when I didn't speak, and he suddenly slammed his fist against the wall, right next to my head. "I do not like being refused, Señorita! Tell me who you are!"

"I'm not sure I should tell you that!" I blurted.

Shocked at his frightening change, I looked down, afraid to meet his fire-tinged eyes again... but now I couldn't help seeing his other hand, and the tightening grip he had on his sword hilt.

"Not even your name?" He ground out, in barely contained rage.

I hesitated, knowing I was walking a very fine line with him – but also knowing that there was an even finer line when it came to potentially changing the future. Even something as seemingly innocuous as giving my name, which I knew would definitely cause more questions, might affect my future. "Probably… not."

Inexplicably, his mood changed again, and he stepped back, sweeping an amused but derisive gaze up and down my dress. "I cannot call you Lady Stanhope, even though you are dressed like her..."

He eyed my low neckline, and in spite of the danger I was in, I couldn't help feeling both embarrassed and annoyed at his mocking scorn. I knew the damn thing was ridiculously low, the whole dress was a horror, I didn't need to be reminded of it. Or judged for it.

"I didn't exactly have much of a choice about the dress –" I bit my lip when his eyes flared bright at my sharp retort, and looked down again.

"Then must I think of a name for you?" He said it like it was a burden, though when I glanced up he looked suspiciously as if he was trying to hide a smile behind a mask of condescension. "I cannot always call you Señorita..."

"Call me whatever you like," I said tightly, trying not to show my exasperation at his patronizing tone of voice, "It makes no difference."

He chuckled at my reaction.

"I have never had to name a lady." His eyes roved over my face. "I think... until you tell me your name, I will call you… Edelina."

"Why?" I asked, frowning. "Why that name?"

He smiled. "As you say, it makes no difference.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR'S NOTES:  
> Edelina means 'Spoils of war'.


	8. The Escape

**_PREVIOUSLY..._ **

_"I have never had to name a lady." His eyes roved over my face. "I think... until you tell me your name, I will call you… Edelina."_

_"Why?" I asked, frowning. "Why that name?"_

_He smiled. "As you say, it makes no difference."_

 

* * *

 

I made a face.

"You object to my choice?" He asked innocently.

"Sounds like an old lady's name," I said without thinking. "Might as well call me Maude or Agnes or something."

His smile turned sly. "Then perhaps you could supply a better name, hmm?"

"I could think of several better names! Even _my_ name's better –"

I stopped.

"Sí?" he goaded me. "What name is that?"

I bit back a retort, aware of how quickly I'd nearly fallen for his trap and told him my name – which was most certainly _not_ a usual name for the 1700s.

Reading my expression, he tilted his head a little, greatly amused.

"Then Edelina it is."

I looked away, knowing I was stuck with the name, and there wasn't much I could do about it; before crossing my arms and returning his gaze.

"Fine," I told him.

"Capitán," a crewman stood in the doorway. "Forgive me, Capitán, but there's been… a complication."

"Officer Santos," Capitán Salazar glanced back. "Where's Lesaro?"

"He is… having difficulties, Capitán, with the French maid. He sent me to inform you that she is refusing to co-operate, and she doesn't want to work in his quarters anymore. Says she must see _him_ –" he threw a cold look at Scarfield's unconscious form, "Again."

Capitán Salazar drew in a wheezing breath of annoyance.

"She has seen him once!" he snapped. "That should've been sufficient to assure her that he's still alive!"

"Yes, but she says that she won't even begin to do anything for us unless he's where she can see him… all the time."

Capitán Salazar growled something rude under his breath about the French, and looked back at me.

"I will return. I'll have _all_ the truth out of you, Edelina," he paused to relish my muted distaste at the name, "And that is a promise!"

 

* * *

 

The second I heard their steps fading up towards the deck, I moved.

"Wake up," I shook Scarfield gently on the shoulder. "Lieutenant, wake up!"

"Beatrice?" He said dreamily. "Have we posted the banns yet?"

I frowned, before deciding that whatever pleasant dream he'd been having wasn't worth breaking him out of just yet by asking him what the hell the ban was and why he needed to send it in the mail, and instead answered, "Yes, absolutely, but you have to get up."

I helped him get to his feet, and leant him against the door of the cage.

Wrenching the loose bar back out, I started to squeeze through the narrow gap I'd made.

Scarfield watched me with slowly dawning comprehension.

"Beatrice…" he exclaimed in awe. "How –"

"Shhh!" I gestured to the outside door, as I stopped to draw in a breath between the bars. "Just in case!"

He understood at once.

"His cabin is right above us," he said in a low whisper. "That's where they took me before."

"What did they want with you?" I whispered back.

"I don't know. Eleni made some kind of deal with Capitán Salazar, to do with you and me..."

I edged, bit by bit, through the gap; letting him talk to me in an effort to distract from the scrape of the rusted bars.

"Eleni... she –" Scarfield stopped, a puzzled look crossing his features.

I tensed and looked back at him, expecting to hear that Eleni had told him everything.

"She... put her hands on my side –" Scarfield brushed at his makeshift bandages. "It itched, and then it tingled, and felt warm – and then – it's strange, but I'm starting to feel better now."

"Huh," I said.

She'd healed him. It surprised me that Eleni hadn't also taken the opportunity to tell Scarfield that his lady's body was being possessed by another woman. I figured maybe because the explanation of how that had happened wouldn't reflect well on _her_.

Scarfield looked up at me. "But I must've dreamt it. I passed out soon after I saw her."

A door slamming shut above us made us both look up. I held my finger up to my lips, signalling him to stay silent. He nodded at me, lips clamped firmly shut, but wide awake now and keenly watching me.

It was a tight fit, the corroded bars scraping hard across my chest, tearing my dress and flaking rust all over my skin. Holding the bar out in one hand until I'd made it, I pulled it quietly through after me, taking care not to clang it against the other bars.

I took a moment to brush all the rust off, as I considered our next step. There was absolutely no way Scarfield would be able to fit through the gap; not without the bars scraping over his injury again, potentially undoing Eleni's good work.

From the outside of the cage, I examined the padlock on the cage door. It was just as corroded as the bars it secured. Breaking it should be possible, I thought, but the noise might bring attention to us. Which meant we'd better have a way of getting out of the room next, before we broke the cage open.

I walked around the room, examining the walls and ceiling.

"Floorboards." Scarfield whispered. "Look for the warped ones."

Looking down, I saw that the floorboards were old and wide: wide enough to make a sizeable gap, if one was removed. I scanned them all, noticing that there was one floorboard in the corner that was warping up at the edges, lifting it a little higher than the others. I got down on my hands and knees, using the broken edge of the bar to ease the board up. The board creaked, a sound that was oddly echoed by the ship around us; but eventually it came out, blackened nails popping off and rolling away as it did. Beneath the floorboards, all I could see was a dark empty deck. No one seemed to be there.

I took a deep breath and sat back up, evaluating our options. Going down wasn't a great idea. But breaking a cage door and then trying to smash through the heavy oak door– the only door in or out – with a rusty bar, was just going to end in a mess. We'd be cornered in no time. The stealthier we were, the more chance we had of actually making it off this ship.

"She chose down," I muttered wryly to myself.

I stood and went quietly back to Scarfield.

"Okay, we're going to do this," I said in a low voice to him. "It's going to make a lot of noise, but once I get this door open, you need to be fast, alright? We need to get through that floor before they get here."

He nodded and stepped back from the cage door.

I lifted the bar, took a deep breath, hoping it wouldn't be too loud, and then swung down to strike at the padlock hard.

At once, the entire ship creaked in protest, the floor rocking under my feet.

"Fuck!" I swore.

" _Beatrice_!" Scarfield's eyes went as round as saucers.

The ship echoed Scarfield with a creaking reprimand of its own, and heaved side to side.

"Fuck fuck fuck _fuck_!" I held onto the bars to stop myself being thrown down.

The ship knew we were trying to escape! It could _feel_! It was going to alert the rest of the crew!

And then I heard it – footsteps above us.

There was no time now. I struck furiously again and again at the padlock, the Silent Mary creaking and shifting around me, punctuating each strike with a muttered apology to the ship, and on the fifth try the thing finally cracked open.

Scarfield leapt forward, yanking the padlock off of the bars, and shoving the door open.

"Come on!" He grabbed my hand, pulling me swiftly to the hole in the floorboards. There was no time for any anxiety at his touching me.

Sliding through the gap first, he dropped down into the dark.

"Jump, Beatrice!"

I heard the heavy footsteps coming down towards the door to the brig, and slid through without letting myself hesitate a second longer. The deck below reeked of rotten fish. I held onto the iron bar tightly as we looked around.

In the brig above, the sound of the heavy oak door being unlocked, followed by an exclamation in Spanish, was heard.

"This way," Scarfield grabbed onto my other hand again.

I let him lead us swiftly along the dark lower deck, figuring that he'd have far more idea which way was which on a ship, and tried not to look too closely as we passed cages of dead, rotting sharks. At the end of the lower deck was a stair case leading up, but at the foot of it, Scarfield paused.

"What is it?" I whispered.

He was looking just beyond, at a barred door, half hidden in the corner at the foot of the stairs. Behind us, I could hear more shouts in Spanish, echoing down the lower deck.

"We have to _go_!" I told him.

"Wait…" he turned away from the stairs, tugging on my reluctant hand to come with him.

While Scarfield stared in through the window grill on the door, I had to stand almost on the tips of my toes to look through. It was another prison cell. And inside, sitting on a tiny narrow bed on the far wall, was Captain Barbossa, head leaning back against the rough wood of the ship's hull, eyes closed.

"Captain Barbossa!" Scarfield was relieved. "You're alive!"

He opened his eyes and looked up at us sharply. And then his eyes widened.

"Scarfield? Lady Stanhope?" he said. "How you two be here, then?"

"It's an old ship." I showed him the bar in my hand. "Kicked my way out."

He cackled quietly. "Well, ya got a lot more gumption than I reckoned! Sure yer ain't got pirate blood in ye?"

"Beatrice has been through a lot lately!" Scarfield intervened before I could answer. "It brings out - a different side in everyone."

It was so strange, having him answer on my behalf. I wondered if it was a Scarfield thing, or just a time period thing; to speak for me, as if a lady shouldn't have anything to say in the presence of other men.

"Thought you were gone mad, Scarfield, to be hankerin' after a dull bit o' porridge," Barbossa winked at me, "Aye, barely spoke two words together at dinner, girl! But when I saw you standing up to Salazar himself... well, I can see why he likes you now!"

Scarfield shot me an uncomfortably fond smile. "She's a treasure!"

"How'd they get you?" I asked the Captain, avoiding Scarfield's admiration.

The last I'd seen of Captain Barbossa, he'd been fighting strongly against Lieutenant Lesaro.

"Took my leg away," he gestured with a hard face down to his stump. "The poxy curs!"

This was bad. Behind us, I could hear them, angry stomping and loud cries in Spanish slowly getting closer.

"Want us to get you out?" I kept my voice low.

"With one leg, I'd just be slowing yer both down," he grimaced. "Those bastards got everything of value!"

"But what about your ship?" I whispered. "Do they have that too?"

"Aye, Salazar got hold of me sword."

I shook my head, thinking he hadn't heard me.

"No, your _ship_!" I repeated. "Who's in control of your ship?"

Barbossa looked at me as if I was stupid, and said slowly, "Salazar's got the sword, girl. That means _he's_ in control of my ship."

I stared at him as his words sunk in. Suddenly things started making sense. The way his ship had moved up next to the Silent Mary so fast. The way its cannons had fired in sync with the movements of his sword…

"The sword of Triton controls the Queen Anne's Revenge," Scarfield confirmed.

"Your sword…?" I said in wonder to Barbossa. "Your sword is the actual sword of a _god?_ "

"Aye, girl!" Barbossa rolled his eyes. "That's what I said!"

A plan started to form in my mind.

"Do you know where they're keeping it?" I asked, straining up even higher to see him.

He looked back at me with interest.

"You're not thinking of tryin' to take it from Salazar, are ye?"

"Beatrice, no –" Scarfield started to say.

"I could," I said, though I knew it was crazy.

"There's no possible way –"

"He'd be keepin' it in his cabin." Barbossa interrupted Scarfield to eye me shrewdly.

"You said they took you there before," I risked a look at Scarfield. "You could show the way."

He was looking at me as if he didn't quite know who I was anymore.

"But just how d'ye think you'll be gettin' in and out of Salazar's cabin without been caught?" Barbossa asked.

I swallowed at Scarfield's half-admiring, half-confused expression and looked back at Barbossa.

"I don't know yet," I confessed. "But I think – if we're really going to have a chance at escape – we're going to need that sword."

"You get that sword for me, girl," Barbossa leant forward. "And I'll make sure you and yer fiancé get off of this ship alive, yer have me word."

"He's not –" I started, before shutting my mouth. "Alright."

 

* * *

 

Barely half a minute after we left Captain Barbossa, there was no longer any doubt.

The entire crew of the Silent Mary knew of our escape, and were searching for us.

Ducking up two flights of stairs without been seen got riskier and riskier; but Scarfield cleverly timed our exit up the second set of stairs straight after three crewmen had run past above, and we were able to take shelter immediately behind stacked crates in a shadowy corner of the upper deck.

Everywhere, the sounds of the crew looking for us echoed in the night, calling to one another in Spanish as they methodically swept through every possible hiding place.

"We'll have to make a swim for it," Scarfield turned to me. "They're going to find us if we don't!"

I risked a quick look out from behind the crates.

I saw the Capitán, unmissable with his floating hair, standing in the moonlight on the main deck below, talking in low tones with Lesaro, while about them the crew searched for us.

As I watched, his back stiffened, and he started to turn – in my direction.

I fell back immediately, heart pounding wildly, terrified he'd seen me.

"What is it?" Scarfield whispered.

I turned towards him.

"Capitán Salazar –" I stopped and stared at his side. "You're bleeding. Your wound's opened up again!"

Scarfield covered the small dark stain seeping through the bandages with his hand, but I'd already seen.

"It's nothing," he insisted.

"Bullshit!" I said, ignoring his wide-eyed look at my swearing again, "You can't swim – not like that!"

"I can, truly I can –"

"Which way is his cabin?"

He placed a hand on my elbow, alarmed. "No, no, you can't, Beatrice! It's too dangerous now!"

"It was too dangerous the minute I squeezed through those bars," I said, "If we want to survive, we need a ship to get to. Which way do I go?"

"Please, Beatrice," He pleaded.

"Look, I'm sorry," I told him. "But I'm not letting you jump in the water and drown! I'm getting that sword!"

I risked one more careful glance around the crates.

The deck was empty.

"They're gone!" I whispered, disbelievingly.

The entire deck was devoid of all signs of them. They must've moved their search for us down below decks.

"What?" Scarfield peered around behind the crates. "What do you mean, they're gone?"

Shaking my surprise off, I stood up.

"Which way do I go?" I asked him.

"Why… would they all leave the deck unattended?" He frowned.

"Because they're looking for _us_!" I said impatiently. "Now which way is his cabin!"

Reluctantly, Scarfield looked around the quarter deck, before pointing at a door on the far left.

"That's the one," he said. "I think the door on the right is the quarters for the higher ranking officers, but his is the one on the left."

Scarfield started to get to his feet, wincing in pain at his side.

"Uh-uh. You stay here!" I said to him, cutting off his protests before he could make them, "I'll be quick, I promise. Save your strength for when we really have to move!"

 

* * *

 

Capitán Salazar's cabin was well lit.

If I'd expected anything of Capitán Salazar's cabin, I would've thought it would be dark, dank and decrepit, but it wasn't.

A row of slanted windows at the far end, framed by heavy drapes, lit the entire cabin with the cool glow of the moon. It was divided into two levels. The lower level was neatly furnished with a solid oak desk and upholstered chair, a heavy world globe in a moveable floor stand, detailed starcharts on the walls, and a single, meticulously hand-written navigational chart on top of the desk.

A brief search of the desk's drawers told me there was no sword there – nor any room for one either. I stepped up to the latter part of the cabin. A long dining table was in the middle of the upper level – private dining for the Capitán and his officers, back when they were alive, I supposed – but that was it.

Nothing else furnished the cabin, except a huge bed built into its own niche in the wall on my right, framed with similar heavy drapes to the ones at the windows. I looked everywhere I could – even behind the drapes – but the sword that I'd seen Barbossa carrying was nowhere to be found.

My stomach was starting to tighten with nerves the longer I searched. This was taking far too long.

"Dammit," I muttered as I stood and turned, inspecting the walls for anything I might have missed – a secret compartment, a hidden drawer – but wherever the sword was, it wasn't in here.

I was ready to give up.

I glanced out the windows, through the distorted glass, to the sea beyond.

The moonlight reflecting off the sea made every little ripple a cold, flickering light – a crowd of unearthly lanterns, gathering together before the Silent Mary in muted excitement, as though for some long-awaited announcement. In another time and place, I would've admired such a view for hours. I would've savoured the ship, and enjoyed the feel of the cabin – but this was not that time, nor that place.

All I really wanted was to go home. I wanted to go home, back to my own body, and not have to care about Scarfield or Barbossa or Eleni or the Silent Mary or –

"It's a beautiful view, no?"

Capitán Salazar stood near the bed. I could see the slight shift of his floating hair as he looked from me to the windows, and then to the iron bar I held in my hand.

"Athena in the moonlight," he mocked softly as he raised his eyes to meet mine again, "With her spear, ready to strike down her enemy."

I was too terrified to speak. If he was here, where was Scarfield? My mind raced mercilessly through a dozen horrible scenarios of what might have happened to him.

Salazar clicked his tongue in disapproval.

"And what were you thinking, hmm?" The Capitán sounded almost friendly. "That you would escape and – just _swim_ back to St Martin?"

He looked me over.

"Or were you, perhaps, hoping to steal the sword of Triton from me?"

I still couldn't speak. All I could think was that if Scarfield wasn't already dead, he soon would be. And I would be too.

He tilted his head, studying me. And then to my surprise, he held his hand out.

"Ven conmigo," he said. "Come with me."

I didn't move.

"Come, come," he encouraged. "You can even bring your little spear, if you wish."

He turned and began to walk towards the cabin door.

"Come," he said over his shoulder.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPANISH TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> Ven conmigo - Come with me
> 
>  
> 
> AUTHOR'S NOTES:
> 
> When Scarfield asks, half asleep, if they've posted the banns, he's referring to the practice of making a public announcement of an impending marriage between the bride and groom. Every respectable marriage 'posted the banns' (the purpose of banns was to enable anyone to raise any moral or legal impediment to the marriage, so as to prevent marriages that were invalid).
> 
> 'She chose down' – I can't apologise. I *had* to slip in a reference to one of my favourite movies ever. Kudos and free internet hugz if you can guess the reference.
> 
> And lastly, just for the sake of anyone wondering, Barbossa is one of the few who makes no comment on 'Lady Stanhope' and her change of accent/voice - since he rarely heard her speak prior to the soul swap, and at the moment has a few more things on his mind than whether Lady Stanhope speaks like a proper lady or not...


	9. The Other Ghost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special Thanks to @thorns-and-rosewings, @piratesangel and @blukoffee on Tumblr for proofing parts of both chapters 8 and 9, and for their suggested edits!

Puzzled and bewildered, I slowly followed Capitán Salazar out the cabin door, and onto the upper deck.

He gestured again to me. "Come and see."

Hesitant, I stepped closer, still holding my iron bar.

On the deck below, on his knees, Scarfield was being held at swordpoint. And around him, also on their knees, I recognised what was left of the crew of the Proserpine. They appeared to have been brought out from wherever they'd been imprisoned, just to give Capitán Salazar an audience. Even Eleni was there, sternly guarded by Lieutenant Lesaro, her face furious in the moonlight as she glared up at me.

Our escape had utterly failed. And now everyone's life hung in the balance.

"So tell me," Capitán Salazar said conversationally, "If a man wants to die, is it better for it to happen quickly, or slowly?"

I gripped my bar in my hands, ignoring the cold shiver that fanned up my back.

"Because the way your precious Lieutenant has acted," he continued, "Tells me he is eager to die. Tonight."

For one wild moment, I thought about striking the Capitán with the bar.

I thought about making one last attempt at escape.

But then I saw Lieutenant Scarfield's face. He was shaking his head, ever so slightly at me - his pleading eyes telling me plainly he'd given up all hope for himself - but silently begging me, with all he had, not to endanger myself any further by trying to fight the Capitán. I'd failed him.

"But what choice did we have," I whispered hopelessly.

"I'm sorry?" He leaned in closer as though he couldn't hear me. "Does the lady wish to speak?"

I bridled at his tone, and met his condescending gaze.

"I said, what choice did we have?" I twisted the rusted bar in my hands. "Better to die trying to escape, than be murdered in a cage."

His lips twisted into a smirk, as though I'd said something amusing. "So the lady chooses death freely, like a hero?"

"No!" I faltered, "I don't think I'm - I'm not -"

"Ah," he tilted his head, "So it was just desperation, then? Because you thought I might - murder you?"

"I wasn't going to wait around to find out!"

"I think," his eyes flared with dark mirth, "You must be in love with death, eh? Every time we speak, I am forced to choose whether to kill you or not."

In spite of his words, he looked so amused, so strangely relaxed to be trading words with me, that I intuitively asked, "Why?"

"Why?" He stared. "You're asking _why_?"

"Yes," I resisted crumbling under the weight of that stare. "Why do you need to kill us? Why kill anyone?"

His expression changed from disbelief to rage in an instant, and he was in my face, black lips spitting violently, "Your Lieutenant, who you care for so much, deceives me, kills one of my men, tries to destroy my ship, and then nearly _escapes -_ and you ask _why I kill_?"

My heart was beating uncontrollably, but there was nothing to lose.

"And when does it stop?" I tried to keep my voice calm and even, "If – if you want other people to treat you fairly, it's not exactly... clever of you, to go around killing everyone!"

He drew his lips back in a dangerous smile. "You don't know how men act when they are afraid to die, Señorita, but I do. They do what I want if they think it'll save them. They give up everything to me, just to draw another pathetic breath into their lungs!"

I knew I was going to die. Everything about his mood told me my life was already forfeit. His eyes glowed with an inner hellfire, his black smile promised bloodshed, but – I had to argue. There really was nothing left for me to lose, and so I refused to let what he was saying go without a challenge. _Especially_ if I was about to die.

"But sooner or later, they're going fight back." I thought of Barbossa, swinging his sword with a mad laugh; Scarfield coming after Salazar, clutching at his bloodied side. "Fear doesn't motivate people forever."

"It motivated your _maid_!" He chuckled, before lowering his voice so only I could hear, "Or should I say, Lady Stanhope's maid? Because she couldn't offer her assistance fast enough!"

I frowned. "What - assistance?"

"She promised to break our curse with her magic in three days," he watched me closely, "In exchange for... certain conditions. One of them, was that I let her leave. With your Lieutenant."

So that was what Eleni had been arguing with them about, while we were locked in the brig. I wondered what else she'd asked for, in exchange for her help.

"Her gift for magic doesn't surprise you." Salazar surmised. "But don't you care that she wishes to save him before you?"

"It's what I would've expected," I deflected. "And I hope she does save him!"

"¿Verdad?" He looks with interest at Eleni. "You want her to leave you behind?"

"No, it's because if she fails, you'll kill him, won't you?"

"Do you think I care if he lives or dies?" he hissed, enraged again. "He knew my terms! He knew I would not, I will _not_ stop, until our curse is broken! He agreed to those terms –" he looked down at Scarfield, still kneeling on the deck below, "Or pretended to agree. He promised the very next ship I encountered would have a witch who would help me."

He looked back at me.

"So, _Athena_ , what wisdom do you offer," he sneered, "If someone violates the terms of an agreement, knowing the consequences when they do - isn't their punishment simply justice?"

"Justice still allows room for some mercy!" I argued.

"No, it doesn't," Capitán Salazar growled. "Mercy is only at the expense of justice!"

He struck the deck once with his sword. One of the ghosts, who I recognised as the very same one Capitán Salazar had commanded to kill Scarfield right before I fell unconscious, was behind Scarfield. At the sound of his Capitán's sword, he pulled Scarfield's head back by his hair, and pressed a dagger to his neck; waiting now only for the command to kill.

"Justice is payment for a wrong," Salazar's hard stare was making my hands sweat. "Take a good look, because you are about to see what real justice is!"

A line of red was showing at Scarfield's neck where the dagger was cutting into his skin.

"It's not a fair punishment!" I said desperately, already seeing a dark drop of blood running down Scarfield's exposed neck. "You can have justice without death!"

"Perhaps. But who will pay for his crimes, if he doesn't?" he asked, sword tapping the deck once more.

I saw the crewman pull the blade suddenly away and hold it high, ready to plunge it down through the back of his neck, Scarfield's pale face anguished in the moonlight.

"Me!" I burst out. "If you're going to kill someone, you should kill me!"

"You would take the justice meant for him?" Salazar swiftly stepped in close to me, blocking my view of Scarfield. "Why?"

I could hear muted whispers on the deck, but I could not look away from the Capitán.

"Because I let him out," I confessed. "I'm the one to blame for his escape – not him."

He leant back, a long drawn-out rasping breath now the only sound on the deck.

"But why would you," he wondered out loud, "Help _him_ escape? Why not just try to save yourself?"

"He's injured!"

He shook his head. "No, no, no, no. You did it because you are in love with him, eh?"

I looked at him incredulously. " _What_?"

"Oh, no need to pretend!" He half-turned towards everyone else, an almost cheerful smile on his face, as though including them in a good joke, "A woman in love is an unstoppable force!"

I saw Eleni stiffen at the Capitán's words, as though he'd shot that remark specifically towards her.

But then he turned back to me, his face suddenly humourless. "But you are right. I should kill you for that."

I took in a deep breath, and nodded. "Then do it," I told him. "Kill me, but let these people live!"

Without warning, he reached his hand up. I kept myself absolutely still, perplexed at the strangeness of the action. He almost touched my face, his fingers hovering a mere inch from my cheek, before drawing back. And then he broke into a sudden laugh.

"I think I named you too soon," he said softly. "Perhaps I should've called you Bella Muerte, you are so eager to die!"

I stared at him, not understanding the turn of his mood.

"But I won't kill you," he nodded. "I think, I will keep you."

My heart sank at his words. Did this mean he was going to  kill the others?

"Why won't you kill me?"

He laughed again, before leaning in, his lips almost brushing against my ear, to say so quietly that no one else but me could hear.

"I see it, plain as day! That man you care for so much, your precious fiancé –"

"You're mistaken, he's not –" I began.

He pressed a finger against my lips. A tremor of heat burned through me at his light touch, and he drew in a pained breath.

"He is yours, whether you are his or not. So if you wish to save him from facing punishment, you will tell me _everything_ , my beautiful Lady Death. Your name, where you are from, all of it." His eyes flare orange as he smiles at me. "Or your 'fiancé' will know _real_ suffering. And you will watch."

I couldn't stop my pounding heart from leaping into my throat at his smiling threat. I couldn't tell him where I was from. It would change the future irrevocably. But if I didn't, he was going to torture Scarfield... and I didn't doubt for a second that he'd force me to watch while he did.

"Do you agree to tell me everything?"

There was nothing else to do.

"I do," I said in a small voice, not able to look at him.

I had no hope of ever going back now. Not to the future as I'd known it.

He rested his hand lightly on the iron bar I still held. I looked up at him, thinking he wanted to take it.

"Keep it," he told me provokingly. "Perhaps you may yet have the courage to use it."

He turned back towards the kneeling prisoners.

"I am in a generous mood," he announced. "Tonight you all shall live."

The ghosts of the Silent Mary instantly dropped their weapons.

"Chain the men securely below." Salazar commanded. "I am sure this lady can entertain me enough tonight."

Scarfield turned towards me, eyes wide with fear and despair, but I quickly looked away.

Salazar wanted Scarfield to imagine the worst. And I was not about to feed any more into the Capitán's cruel triumph by reacting.

"But," the Capitán continued, "There is still the matter of our curse." He stared hard at Eleni. "Bring her here, Lesaro. I will speak with the maid privately about the rest of her... proposition."

 

* * *

 

Before the remaining crew of the Proserpine were even hauled to their feet, one of the others, Officer Santos, who I remembered from his interruption of Salazar's questioning earlier in the brig, was escorting me back into the Capitán's cabin.

He held the door open for me to walk through, before exiting without a word, closing the door behind him. He didn't even bother to lock the cabin door. Which told me more than if he had. It told me there was absolutely no chance of escape. I stared at the cabin door, wondering if I had the courage to go back out there, challenge the Capitán with my iron bar, and somehow free all the prisoners in a wild fantastical series of events that somehow ended up with the sword of Triton landing in my grasp, when I was interrupted by a person clearing their throat very loudly and annoyingly behind me.

"You tryin' to open it with yer mind, or what?" said the annoying person.

I turned.

A strangely dressed man with way too many beads in his hair, and way too much eye make-up on, rocked back in one of the chairs at the dining table, smirking at me.

"Who're you?"

He winked. "Well, I'm a ghost too, ain't I?"

"Uh huh," I didn't believe him in the slightest.

"No, really, I am!" He pouted.

"Right. You don't look like one."

The pout immediately dropped, he stretched his hands back behind his head, and grinned again.

"Correction: I ain't the kind that looks like Spanish and his lot, no. But I most assuredly am one, love. A ghost, that is."

He flickered a little as he rocked on the back legs of the chair, fading in and out, like a badly made old movie. I stared. His voice, his accent, sounded distinctly like the one I'd heard in the brig.

"Were you... the one from before?"

"What an interesting metaphysical question," he looked at the ceiling, considering it. "Because you're assuming there _was_ a before. And of course, you would be absolutely correct. There was a before. But _which_ before are you meaning, love? A lady should be always be clear on _what_ she means, because I've known a _lot_ of young ladies who've fallen into sticky situations simply because they weren't exactly clear on their terms, if you know what I mean..."

"What the hell-"

"For instance: you, love, should define whether you mean the immediate before, as in when I was still alive, or the _before_ before, meaning before I was born, or the _before_ before before, meaning before _all_ things - "

"You were the one in the brig, weren't you?" I clarified, cutting his irritating soliloquy short. "The one who was watching me."

He shrugged and pretended to look sheepish.

"Can't blame me love," he said. "I mean, you were takin' yer petticoat off, I thought if I hung around yer might take somethin' more off –"

"Who are you?" I interrupted. "You're nothing like the others at all! How come you're here?"

"You mean, how'd a nice fella like me end up in a place like this?" He raked his gaze up and down my figure. "You'll have to try a better line than that, love, if you want me to spill all my secrets t'yer."

 _Wow._ This ghost was really annoying.

"Yeah," I said. "Right. Well, if you're not here to tell me anything, how about you toss off somewhere else."

"Toss… off?" He looked at me with even more interest. "That's not something you hear every day…"

I turned away. If I was going to be in Capitán Salazar's cabin, I might as well try and keep looking to see if the sword of Triton was hidden somewhere I hadn't discovered yet. I laid my broken bar down on top of the desk, and began to go through the drawers again.

"And that's an unusual accent you got there, love," he called out as I gave up on the drawers, and looked under the desk. "Not really like any that people here speak with… where're you from, exactly?"

I chose to ignore him.

"Hey, come on, you can tell me! It's not like I'm gonna tell anyone…"

I looked in the gap between the desk and the wall, continuing to ignore him.

"Hey!"

He'd glided closer, clearly offended that I was ignoring him.

"Don't be like Spanish! He ignores me all the time now, he's not as fun as he used to be! I hafta mess around in here just to get a reaction -"

I sighed. I could see he wasn't actually going to leave me alone any time soon.

"Fine." I turned to him. "How about you tell me something worthwhile, something _useful_ , to help me, and maybe I'll think about telling you where I'm from. Nothing else though," I hurriedly added.

"A parley?" he grinned. "I like it."

It took me a second to absorb the word, before I figured out what he meant.

"Yeah, I guess. Although it's more a quid pro quo, Clarice," I said dryly, before remembering that Hannibal Lecter was three centuries away from even being thought of.

"You really _aren't_ from around here, are yer?" he glided even closer. "I knew it. Knew it soon as I saw yer. Yer the one."

"What?"

"The one what's gonna help break the Curse. The one what's gonna free me."

"Uh..." I shook my head. "I don't think so. Don't you need - don't you need magic to break this Curse?"

"Nope," he said firmly. "Magic, bollocks. I did try to tell 'em, but they don't wanna hear it from me. The Curse can be broken, but don't need magic to do it."

"What do you mean?"

The strange ghost opened his mouth to answer me, when the cabin door swung open.

" _Sparrow!_ " Capitán Salazar hissed. "Te he dicho mil veces, ¡Vete a la mierda!"

"Didn't understand half o' that." The other ghost shrugged, grinning.

Salazar pulled his sword out, and strode towards him, teeth bared in a snarl.

"Wait, wait, wait!" I stood between them. "He just said he knew how to break your Curse!"

But Salazar was so enraged it took all my physical strength to stop him, both my hands pushing hard against the charred longcoat he wore.

"Can't you at least hear him out?" I pleaded, thinking of the crew of the Proserpine, being imprisoned below decks waiting for their deaths if Eleni failed. "Please?"

"You - ?" Salazar slowly turned his rage away to focus on me. "You can see him... _you_ can see the Sparrow?"

"Of course," I answered, frowning.

"Humans... do not see him." He said slowly, "Only we do... or did. Until now."

"And that's my cue to leave," the ghost called Sparrow winked at me, "Back later, love!"

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPANISH TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> ¿Verdad? - True?
> 
> Te he dicho mil veces, ¡Vete a la mierda! - I've told you a thousand times, f**k off!
> 
>  
> 
> AUTHOR'S NOTES:
> 
> '...young ladies who've fallen into sticky situations simply because they weren't exactly clear on the terms...'  
> It's hard to say *who* Jack might've been thinking about when he says this ; ) but there was one lady in particular, a certain Miss Swann, who fell into trouble because she hadn't been precisely clear on her original conditions of parley with a certain Captain Barbossa...


	10. Confessions

_"And that's my cue to leave," the ghost called Sparrow winked at me, "Back later, love!"_

 

* * *

 

"¡No vuelvas!" Salazar growled at the other ghost, but Sparrow had already gone.

I shook my head in exasperation. "He said he knew how to break your Curse. Why didn't you let him tell us?"

Salazar glared at me.

"How _are_ you able to see him?" He repeated.

"Look, I didn't even know he was a ghost, until he told me!"

Frustrated, Salazar pushed past my hands, moving in again until his chest was touching mine. "Why can you see him, when not even that French girl, who says she has magic, can see him?"

"I don't know..."

"Who are you? Why are you here in another's body?"

"I – I don't know!" I started to back away from the intense emotions pouring out of him like a wave – stronger even than they had been on the deck, when he'd been threatening Scarfield with death – and an icy shiver of fear rippled up my spine at the expressions I saw on his face.

Suddenly his free hand gripped the back of my neck, his sword arm slid around my waist and he pulled me in close. I sucked in a harsh breath at the scorching heat that shot out from his hand, and he drew in a rasping breath through parted lips as we touched skin to skin again.

"You will tell me everything now, Señorita," he said huskily. "I will not take any more refusals!"

"Alright!" I shoved against his chest with my hands, needing some space between us, panic threatening to overwhelm me. " _Alright_! Just let me go!"

He squeezed the base of my skull. "No! You will tell me _now_!"

"What do you want to know?" It was so hard to breathe, pressed up this close to him; I struggled to keep from slipping into a faint. "Please, I'll tell you, just what do you –"

"Your name."

I blinked. The abruptness of his response somehow cut through the panic, and I managed to draw a deep, calming breath in.

"I want your name first, Señorita – your _real_ name. And I'll know if you're lying!"

Breathing out a sigh, I told him.

He frowned. "That is – an unusual name."

"I know."

He looked down into my face, and I could see he was trying to figure out if I was making it up or not.

"It doesn't sound… English. What does it mean?"

"It's Russian." I said flatly. "It's a term of endearment. It means 'my lamb'."

He stared. And then, inexplicably, began to chuckle. "Like a lamb to the slaughter, eh?"

I didn't have anything to say to that, seeing how I'd volunteered myself in place of Scarfield's execution, so instead I remained quiet, taking in another steadying breath, glad that the panic seemed to have abated. The last thing I wanted was to faint away in the Capitán's arms, like in some insipid romance novel.

"Hmmm," he murmured, still studying me. "It's a pretty name. Though I think, I prefer Athena for you the most." He tilted his head, before adding, "Sí, as much as it amused me to call you my spoils of war –"

"Your _what_?" My mouth dropped open.

"Edelina means 'spoils of war'," he chuckled lowly. "Appropriate. Seeing how you are _my_ prize from battle..."

I was speechless.

His fingers spread up through my hair, loosening it a little from Eleni's tight braid. His eyes changed hue, becoming like a rich ochre, shot through with coffee; the dark rumble of his voice reverberated in the space between us, as he actually _purred_ something short and low in Spanish. I swallowed nervously at the hot slide of his fingers burning against my scalp: and all of it together implausibly suggested...

I shook my head slightly, absolutely confused. I couldn't believe this. Not a single bit of it. That a fierce Spanish Capitán under a dark magical Curse would be trying to – to... _seduce_? I shook my head again. It was so extremely unlikely, it had to be something else. I didn't know _what_ he was trying to achieve, whether he was trying to distract me or provoke me, but whatever his reason, I wasn't buying it.

He tilted his head, watching me, the corner of his mouth lifting a little in mockery, and when he spoke his voice was even more suggestive than before. "Mine... to do whatever I want with..."

Okay, _that_ was provoking. My hand involuntarily twitched against his chest as I actually considered slapping him.

Before I remembered what such an action might cost the others.

"But I really do like Athena best," he glanced down at my hand with amusement. "Suits you better."

His thumb was stroking upwards along the skin behind my ear, shooting hot waves intermittently over my scalp.

"Right, well, thank you, but I'd rather _not_ be called that," I turned my head a little, trying to pull away from his touch, "If it's all the same to you."

His fist clenched in my hair, forcing me to look him in the eye; he actually seemed offended and upset that I had been dismissive. "You object to the name of a goddess?"

I couldn't help wrinkling my nose in dislike. "Since most of them didn't have much in the way of self-control or, you know, _morality_ – yeah, no thanks."

He suddenly huffed a small laugh.

"Athena was a virgin goddess," he relaxed his grip again. "The goddess of wisdom, courage and justice. And her spear was specially made for her, to be her protection."

"Well, I'm not a goddess," I couldn't help glancing at where I'd left my bar, still lying on the desk, hopelessly out of reach. "And that rusty bar isn't a spear –"

"No, it is not." His eyes flared again. "But I notice you don't correct me when I allude to you being a virgin…?"

"Wow, _none_ of your business!" I said hotly.

"So you have a lover?" He seemed genuinely interested.

" _No_!" I retorted, "And… and it's _still_ none of your business whether I have one or – or a hundred!"

He chuckled again softly. "If you had a hundred, you would _have_ to be a goddess to keep up with them all."

An unpleasant flush prickled over my skin, and the panic returned doubly, even worse than when Lieutenant Scarfield started talking about how much he admired me, thinking I was his fiancée.

"Okay, can we _not_ talk about – lovers or – or –" I almost bit my tongue when he suddenly leant in closer, his floating hair skimming the sides of my face.

"Nervous, Athena?" His hand trailed from the back of my neck to slide down to my shoulder. "Very strange. You talk so eloquently about justice and mercy with a man's life in the balance before you… and yet the thought of a lover… makes you blush and stutter?"

The slow way his palm – still burning hot – moved over my skin made me shiver.

"I don't – stutter!" I tried to ignore the sensations rippling through me at the feel of his hand. "Actually, I'm just not interested. In lovers – or love."

He tilted his head in that analytical way I was coming to recognise, studying me like I was an unusual creature he'd never seen before.

I couldn't keep looking back. I had to drop my gaze, his focus on me was so unsettling.

"So. Your name is Russian," he changed the subject brusquely and leaned back, though he didn't completely release his hold on me. "Are you Russian?"

I let out the breath I didn't even realise I'd been holding, relieved at the change of subject. "I'm not."

"Then, your parents are Russian?"

I shook my head. "They're – well, I never knew my real parents. All I've been able to discover is that my ancestors came from a lot of different countries."

He looked intrigued. "Which countries?"

"On my mother's side, mainly France."

"And your father's side?" he asked.

"Spain."

He smiled a little at that. "So you have some of my country's blood in you."

"From a long time ago."

"And you speak only English?"

"And French. But only a little."

He paused. "Yet your English is different. You don't sound – like any of the English I've met."

How on earth did I explain this?

"What country were you born in?" he insisted when I was silent.

I knew I had to tell him. I knew it was inevitable. But as I stared up into his eyes – eyes that changed from fire to amber and back to fire again – I thought that perhaps, with some luck, he might not even believe me. If I went ahead and told him I was from the future, he might just think I was lying. Though, if he was convinced I _was_ lying, it would probably end with my blood on the floorboards...

"Let's just say that… right now, my country isn't exactly a … nation …" I took a deep breath, and plunged, praying he would just call me a liar, fling me back into the brig, and be done with me. "In this century."

"In this _century_?" His eyes widened. "You're telling me… you're not from this time?"

"Yes."

"You're from the past?"

"… no. Not the past."

I held my breath, waiting to see how he'd react to that.

"But…" His lips parted in shock. "¿Estás diciendo que eres del futuro?"

"I'm sorry?"

But he didn't explain. Instead, Salazar's pained breathing punctuated the silence of the cabin, his eyes flicking quickly over my face.

"You aren't lying…" he stated, much to my surprise.

But the seriousness of his expression, and his steely grip on my shoulder made me swallow convulsively.

"You are – from the _future_?"

I grimaced. My hope that he'd simply think I was lying had been dashed. "Unfortunately."

He stared again. And then he took me by the arm, and pulled me to the dining table. Jerking one chair out to face him, he pushed me down into it, the folds of my dress bunching up under me as he impetuously forced me to sit.

"You will answer every question," he stood over me. "You will tell me everything I want to know about your time, or you know what the consequences will be."

My stomach turned at his words, and that awful sinking feeling came back, as I realised that the future I'd come from was definitely never going to be the same again now.

"How many years from now have you come?" he demanded.

"I don't even know what year I'm in!"

"1751," he snapped. "Now what year did you come from?"

"Honestly…" I nervously tried to buy time by shifting in my seat, smoothing my skirts out more comfortably from under me, "I – I haven't even been born yet."

He tapped his sword on the wooden floorboards. "How many years!"

I lowered my eyes in defeat. "I was born two hundred and fifty years from now. Give or take."

"Two hundred and fifty years…" His boots shifted closer. "And the world, it still exists?"

I frowned up at him. "Why wouldn't it?"

He examined me in silence, before saying, "Because of the nature of men."

"What do you mean?"

"Men haven't destroyed the world yet?"

"No," I smiled wryly. "Though quite a few have tried."

"You mean wars?"

"Yes. And – other things."

"Such as?"

"Just – things done for greed. For money."

"Tell me."

I hesitated again.

How could I even start to explain the way humans try to destroy the world in the next three hundred years to him, when half of it was with things – like nuclear weapons and biological warfare – which he would never have even heard of. Hell, they'd probably barely just invented guns in this century.

"No, no, no, Athena," he growled at my hesitation, his sword twisting impatiently in his hand. "You _have_ to explain more. What things?"

"Just… things that have been done, that've had a permanent effect on the world. Forests that won't grow back. Water that isn't drinkable anymore. Whole species that've died out. Some places are so bad, no one can live in them, because of what was done there."

"Where has this happened?"

"A lot of places," I floundered, trying not to give specifics. "Places where wars have poisoned the air and the ground, so if anyone tries to live there, they get very sick and die."

"Does it happen in Spain?" He asked quietly.

"No," I reassured him hurriedly. "I mean, I don't know _much_ about Spain, but I don't think it had any of those things happen. But I – I really don't know much about Spanish history..."

He paced away suddenly towards the windows and stood there, looking out through the glass, at the moon sinking over the sea.

I watched him, aware of the deep chill that had fallen in the cabin, but at a loss to understand exactly what had caused it.

"Why not?" There was something distinctly dangerous in the calm quality of his voice. "Tell me, Athena. Why don't you know about my country?"

"I'm sorry – we just... we just weren't taught about it very much. In school."

He spun around to face me. "And why is that?"

I froze at the look on his face. "Uh…"

"Why don't they teach you about Spain, in your future schools?"

He looked so… _distraught_ , I tried to think of something comforting to say.

"Well, we are taught, a little, but it's more general historical knowledge –"

"No, no need to try and make it better for me," he smiled humourlessly. "I can already guess. Spain is… not important anymore, hmm?"

"I wouldn't say that –"

He started to stalk back towards me. "Not important enough to know about. Isn't that true?"

"No, that's not what –"

"Then what _do_ you know of my country?" His expression was fierce. "Por favor, but tell me that we are at least free of British interference!"

"Um, yes." I swallowed. "I mean, a lot of countries have kind of broken away from… 'British interference'…"

I hoped he'd ask nothing more. I knew it would pain him to hear even the very little I did know: that Spain would soon start to lose its American colonies, and continue to struggle economically for centuries from now. And mentioning the Spanish civil war that had happened, before World War II, with the horrible atrocities committed in his own country, by his own people against one another, was _not_ going to go down well either.

He stood over me again, staring down at me, a whirlwind of emotions crossing his face so fast I could barely interpret what he was thinking. And then without warning, he placed his sword on the table.

"You are still being very vague," he said softly. "You know things, and you are not telling me."

Turning the chair next to mine to face me, he sat so that his knees boxed me in.

"Let me tell you a story, Athena. And perhaps, afterwards, you can reward _me_ with a story."

He leant forward.

"My grandfather was born in Valencia. He was still a boy, when there was a plague. They blamed the English, said that somehow they had brought rats that carried the disease. A lot of people died. The water became contaminated, no one brought food into the city. My grandfather, he and his parents tried to get away, to move to where we had relatives, in Cadiz. But by then it was too late. My grandfather was the only one who survived."

"I'm sorry," I looked down at my hands in my lap. "That's awful."

He blinked. "¿Que?"

"I'm sorry he lost everyone." I risked a glance up at him. He was utterly still, and I couldn't tell if it was because he was surprised I would be sorry, or offended. On impulse, I decided not to wait to find out, and keep him talking.

"Was he very young when it happened?"

"Sí…" He nodded. "It… made him a hard man."

"I know it's – not going to change anything," I shook my head. "But where I come from, there's medicines they've made, that have eliminated a lot of the diseases people used to have."

"That is a good thing," he frowned. "And yet, you give me the impression that there are also a lot of things that are _not_ good in the future."

"No. There's not."

"Hmmm," he look at me calculatedly. "But let me continue my story, Athena. You will see the purpose soon."

"My grandfather wanted our family to be great," he went on. "He believed in Spain. He became a Capitán of his own ship in the Armada, and never lost his faith. In spite of – our King, in spite of our losses, in spite of the way the British tried to interfere with who succeeded on the throne, in spite of everything he himself had suffered – my grandfather believed that we could be a great and powerful country." His eyes flared red. "But then he was murdered."

"What?" My mouth dropped open in shock.

"Pirates murdered him." Salazar leant back in his chair. "And I decided that if I could make one difference in this world, it would be this: that I would not leave this world until there were no more pirates left. I would destroy every last one of them. That was my purpose."

I looked at him. At the way he was. And I felt sorry for him. To want justice for his grandfather so much, only to end up under a curse… it wasn't fair.

"So. What is _your_ purpose, Athena?" he asked.

I stared, trying to understand his question. "What – what do you mean?"

"In your life, back home. You are not happy, I think, unless you are doing something…" he searched my face. "For others."

"I – I was. Trying to, anyway. I was studying so that I could get a job that would – help other people. But – I never finished."

"What stopped you?"

There were so many glib answers I had at my disposal – so many people who'd already asked me the same question – that I settled for the most innocuous.

"I just decided not to do it anymore."

But Capitán Salazar's shrewd gaze missed nothing.

"What stopped you?" he repeated.

"I made a mistake."

He tilted his head. " What mistake?"

I'd never talked about it before. Not really. But I knew the Capitán wouldn't stop asking until I'd told him the truth.

"I –" I shrugged. "I'd planned my life. I had it all worked out, and then things changed. I - met someone. The cliché. I thought I was in love. I became so wrapped up in the idea of living a life with him, that I put everything else on hold. I thought he was everything I wanted."

"And he hurt you." He was strangely concerned.

"He – lied to me. Made me believe he was this amazingly romantic hero, that he wanted to marry me, that he would give everything up for me. And it was all a lie. I went to visit him one day, a surprise visit, and he was with another woman. An older woman than me." I gave him a self-deprecating smile. "Another cliché. The stupid, naive girl with no experience, being dumped by an arrogant bastard because he wanted the sexier, smarter, more worldly woman. I guess they suited eachother."

"So... was he your lover?"

His voice was surprisingly gentle; and it threw me, because no one had ever asked me before. Not like that.

I found myself telling him candidly, "Not a lover. It never got that far. I was too shy, and he'd convinced me he was happy to take it slow. Said he didn't mind I had no experience. But he was lying. Fortunately, I found out just how much of a liar he was before it was too late. I had a chance to do something with my life, and I... I kind of threw it away. For him. For a lie. I lost my chance. And... I didn't... I _don't_ have the – the same desire to start all over again, with what I wanted to do. But at least, I wasn't too late to stop myself from getting more hurt over him."

But I _was_ too late, I couldn't help thinking silently. Because I'd allowed myself to want him. To believe his lies. To love him.

"You are reluctant to tell me. Because it still hurts." He nodded, watching me carefully.

I looked away. "It's life. Life hurts. People can't be trusted. You can understand them, but you can never trust them. Not really."

He absorbed this in silence.

"Perhaps one day..." He said softly, and then he stopped.

I looked back at him, and it seemed like he would say more, but then he leant back against his chair.

"But I know, Athena," he was shrewd again, "Why you are afraid of telling me more about the future of my country. You think it would be wrong. You think you'd be telling me things I'm not meant to know. And yet," he leant forward again. "Have you considered, that this, here and now, is how you can make a difference? How you can help others? You may think you have lost one chance before, but you don't have to lose this one."

I shook my head.

"Capitán, I don't know if telling you even what I already have so far is a good thing! I don't really know how this magic, this time travel stuff, works. I don't even really know why _I_ was the one who was dragged here." I shook my head as he started to open his mouth to speak. "I'm sorry, I know you want me to tell you more about Spain, I know that, but –"

"I want you to tell me what went _wrong_!" He said fiercely. "Why Spain is not the great country my grandfather wanted it to be! Why Spain is not being taught to children everywhere, as the great country it was supposed to be! You can change that. You can help change Spain's future!"

"But what if that's not how it works!" I argued, disturbed at the direction he was going in. "I could tell you some of the things I remember happening, and maybe, you _might_ avoid some things. But that doesn't necessarily make the future better for Spain! In fact, it might make it worse. You'd be interfering with things that are beyond your control. And – and anything that you do, means I won't be able to return to the same life I knew."

He snorted. "You wish to return? Even though that man hurt you?"

"There's more to my life than that idiot!" I grimaced. "I have people I consider family, I have friends, so yes I do want to go back!"

He tilted his head. "But how will you do so?"

"Eleni had a spell. She knows something about how to get me back."

"Sí," he looked incredulous. "Because she has magic, you think she'll return you to your own body?"

"Well, what exactly did Eleni tell you?" I asked. "About me, I mean."

"That you are not in your own body. That the real Lady Stanhope tried to do magic, and it failed."

"And did she add that it was because Lady Stanhope was defending herself?" I raised an eyebrow. "Against her own maid? Because she caught Eleni trying to cast a love spell?"

"Of course," Capitán Salazar seemed to have already comprehended what had taken me much longer to realise. "Because she is in love with your Lieutenant."

I sighed. "He's not _my_ –"

"But," Salazar waved his hand, cutting me off. "The real mystery is, why this magic Lady Stanhope used, chose you. Why it pulled you, out of all the people in the world, out of all the people who have ever lived, from the future to here and now. Because I think it is not an accident. I think you are here to change things."

"No!" I blurted, alarmed. "Absolutely not, I'm not –"

"Sí!" He was adamant. "I think you are here to stop bad things from happening. To change the future. Make things better."

"Okay, sorry, but that's…" I faltered, as his words sank in. Could it really be true? But then I thought of every time travel theory ever, and shook my head firmly. "No. No, that's bullshit!"

He cocked his head.

"Bullshit?" He started to chuckle. "How very Spanish."

"Yeah, yeah, very funny. But me being here is – is because of a stupid random magical accident! Eleni said Lady Stanhope had magic of her own. It was just a random thing! She used her magic to deflect Eleni's attack, and called out for a protector…"

I stopped.

He smiled. "And here she is. The Protector."

"But that makes no sense –"

"No?" He raised his eyebrows. "You think the magic made a mistake when it chose you?"

"I'm not…" I looked at him, and saw he was more amused than ever. "That's just ridiculous! I'm not some stupid 'Chosen One', I don't have a lightning bolt scar on my head –"

"¿Que?" He made a face. "Why would you have a lightning bolt scar on your head?"

"Look," I sighed, "Magic didn't choose me. It makes no sense. There's nothing special about me –"

"You threatened me," he interrupted. "Have you forgotten? You threatened _me_ , with a fistful of mud, just to save a life. The way you looked at me, when you first saw me – no one has ever had the courage to look at me the way you did. You cared for someone you barely knew, because he was injured. You had every chance to escape and save yourself, but you stay and try to steal the Sword of Triton so that – _again_ – you can save someone else."

He reached forward, resting his grey hand over mine in my lap, and instantly my skin was inflamed by his touch.

"Every time we touch, it's like fire. You see the Sparrow when the others can't. Almost every single thing I've seen you do, has been to protect someone else," he said quietly. "So answer me. Do you _really_ think the magic made a mistake?"

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPANISH TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> ¡No vuelvas! - Don't come back!
> 
> ¿Estás diciendo que eres del futuro? - You're from the future?
> 
>  
> 
> AUTHOR'S NOTES:
> 
> Some creative leeway in this chapter with Capitán Salazar's personal history. I am ignoring any of the PotC books/canon in regards to Salazar's family history, save the most basic facts (that his father and grandfather were in the Spanish Armada before him, and died at the hands of pirates), and creating the rest myself.
> 
> Athena is only partially correct in assuming guns had been barely invented in the time period of this story. The earliest guns were invented late 1300s -1400s; however the flintlock gun, such as we see used in the PotC universe, was only invented around the 1630s. So the guns in this time period had only been in use for a little over a hundred years. Gun design wouldn't significantly change again until the 1800s.
> 
> Salazar makes reference specifically to the plague that struck Spain from 1676–1685 when he retells the story of his grandfather.
> 
> The King that Salazar hesitates on is King Charles II. Under his reign, Spain was declared bankrupt twice, from the almost constant wars that drained its economy, and is now best remembered for his physical disabilities, and the war for his throne that followed his death.
> 
> The War of the Spanish Succession (1701–1714) was a European conflict triggered by the death of the childless Charles II of Spain in November 1700. The Spanish people wanted the Duke of Anjou, Philip V, but other countries, notably England and France, used the political turmoil caused by this succession to attack Spain and its territories.
> 
> England (in particular) was afraid that Philip V, who was also in line for the French throne, might reasonably rule both countries. The combined powers and military strength of both France and Spain was extremely threatening for England, and from Salazar's point of view, the English monarchy sanctioned a lot of shady stuff (like financing pirates to attack Spanish colonies and Spanish-governed islands in the caribbean), to make life hard for Spain financially and politically. Hence, Salazar's anger at the 'British interference'.


	11. The Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for implied/referenced Suicidal Thoughts/Past Suicidal Thoughts.

_He reached forward, resting his grey hand over mine in my lap, and instantly my skin was inflamed by his touch._

_"Every time we touch, it's like fire. You see the Sparrow when the others can't. Almost every single thing I've seen you do, has been to protect someone else," he said quietly. "So answer me. Do you really think the magic made a mistake?"_

 

* * *

 

His fingers wrapped under my palm; I was unable to argue against the undeniable heat produced just from his skin on mine.

"I don't know. I've…" I tried to pull my chaotic thoughts together, flustered by his words and his touch. "Look, the thing is, magic – I never even believed magic was real before."

Another shot of heat tremored through our joined hands, and I shook my head at the sensations – what did they even mean?

"Neither did I," he said, "Until I died."

"How – how did you…?" I hesitated as I looked back up at him, wanting to ask, but at the same time unsure how to.

"How did I die?" His face became a blank mask. "Three weeks ago I would have told you. But since then – the past no longer interests me. Only that I – my men and I – have a future. And I am sure that whatever magic brought you here, did it for a reason. You can help us make a future worth living in!"

"You're asking me to believe that somehow I've been 'chosen' to be here, and that makes everything alright?" I knew I was risking his rage to disagree with him like this, but I had to say it. "I'm sorry, but I'm just not convinced. How can it be alright for me to tell you details about the future, so that you can change things?"

By his tense, unwavering gaze I could see he wasn't willing to accept it; but he was, at least, listening.

"If I do that," I paused to emphasise my point, "If I tell you details about the future… I won't have a life anymore. I won't _have_ a future. All my friends, all the people I know, might not even be born. Because you change things. So, I'm sorry," I eased my hand out from under his. "But I just can't tell you anything more."

"You are refusing me?" His hand stayed in my lap, a heavy weight. "Even though you know I hold Scarfield's life in my hand?"

I bit my lip. "I'm sorry… I can't. There's – bigger things at stake."

I waited for him to break into a rage… but instead, he nodded, as though already expecting my answer, and sat back.

"Think on it," he told me. "I will give you time."

I blinked, surprised at his sudden easy acceptance.

He stood.

"You should sleep, Athena." He held his hand out to me. "Come. Sleep, and perhaps we can speak again when you wake."

His unexpected offer for me to rest was so at odds with the death threats he'd previously been making against Scarfield; but before I knew it he was taking my hand, and I let him, confused by how genuinely polite and concerned he was being. The instant heat of his hand on mine as he led me to the bed in the cabin was just as strong as ever.

At the sight of the bed, I realised I was actually very tired. In spite of the strangeness of the entire situation, lying down was suddenly very appealing. Heavy drapes framed a four-poster bed set tightly into its own niche in the wall. The bed was still neatly made up with dark coverlets over greyed sheets, and I knew it would have been a long time since someone living would have slept here... but I would not offend him by refusing. And honestly, the Capitán's bed could have been a hay bale, and I wouldn't have refused, I was so exhausted. I wondered then where he slept. And if he even did sleep. I turned to him, realising uncomfortably that I didn't know what being in his bed might mean in terms of sleeping arrangements, but he pre-empted my question before I could even speak.

"I need no sleep," he said as he let his hand drop from mine. "So I will leave you in peace."

"You don't sleep?"

"No," he looked away. "I dream… but I do not sleep."

I frowned. "How –"

"Another time." He looked back. "I will return in a few hours. I hope you understand, Athena, that you are not to leave this cabin," he carefully brushed away a lock of loosened hair away from my face, his fingers burning where they touched. "You are not to try and escape again."

"I won't," I said quickly.

"Good."

His hand lingered a moment longer, prolonging the burning; before he withdrew his hand, nodded again at me, and left.

Once the cabin door closed behind him, I sank down on the bed, uncertain of what to do. Escape, my mind screamed, but it wasn't possible. I rubbed my face, and stared at the opposite wall. The entire future as I knew it depended on how much more I told a cursed Spanish Capitán in 1751 about it. And what he chose to do with that knowledge, if I _did_ tell him.

My options to avoid any further possible damage to the future was either to escape – something I knew would be hard to pull off a second time around – or get Eleni to finish figuring out how to send me back home. Eleni, who had made her own bargain with Salazar in order to save Scarfield. I had the strongest suspicion Salazar hadn't told me _all_ the terms of his bargain with her either. There didn't seem an easy solution to anything. Certainly not one that didn't involve having to convince either an extremely unpredictable and dangerous Capitán, or a slippery French woman to do something that didn't necessarily benefit them.

I sighed. The best thing I could probably do right now _was_ sleep. I raised my arms up over my head, easing the ache of a dozen sore muscles. As I stretched, my corset scraped over the raw skin under my arms, and I hissed in pain. It had been chafing every time I'd moved, ever since I'd put it on, and now that I was alone, I could no longer ignore it. I decided that if I was going to sleep, properly sleep, I would have to take the thing off.

I managed to stand and pull the dress off – torn and tattered and stained with rust – over my head, and after some minutes figured out how to pull the corset laces loose enough to let it drop to the floorboards. I took in a relieved breath and arched my back, grateful to stretch out after so many hours of suffocating layers.

I left my shift and pantaloons on for modesty, and turned to pull back the heavy covers of the bed. The bed was hard and the pillows stiff, but it was still better than lying on the floorboards of the brig. As I slid down between the covers, a soft creak in the cabin made me freeze.

Sparrow was standing there, a smirk on his face.

"You've got to be bloody kidding me!" I scowled. "How long have you been watching!"

"Oh, long enough…" he grinned, hopping up on the table to sit, facing me, spreading his legs open in a ridiculous attempt at being seductive. "Long enough to get a good idea of what you got to offer."

"Gross," I lay down, facing the wall.

"Come on, love, just returning the favour," he laughed behind me. "I mean, you gave me a right good show, standin' there just in your underthings… and can I just say, your legs are _magnificent_!"

"Piss off."

"Don't you wanna talk to me?"

"You gonna put your manspread away?"

"What?"

I risked a glance back. And groaned. " _Please_. Shut your legs."

"Fine," Sparrow sighed. "Though, yer don't know what yer missin'. I mean, for a ghost, I hafta say, I am an absolutely perfect replica of my livin' body…"

"Not talking till I can hear you sit in a chair."

Sparrow huffed, but I heard a chair scrape back, followed by a creak. "You happy now?"

Hesitantly, I rolled over. He was sitting in the chair, as I'd asked, looking for all the world like it was the worst thing he'd ever had to do. I sat up in bed, crossed my arms, and waited.

He raised an eyebrow at me, and smirked again. "Y'know, I can see right through that slip of yours, love –"

"So are you here to actually talk," I snapped, folding my arms higher over my chest. "Or be annoying?"

"Well, now that Spanish has gone," Sparrow rocked back in his chair. "Thought you an' me might have a little chat. 'Bout the Curse."

"Well?"

"Patience, patience," he grinned. "Was a nice little heart to heart you and he was havin', wasn't it? Real nice."

"You were listening?"

"Course I was. Most interestin'." He winked. "Never seen El Capitán like that before… all concerned and such. 'Bout that man that hurt you."

I rolled my eyes. "You said you knew how to break the Curse. And that it wouldn't take magic to do it." I waited. "So, tell me. How do you break it?"

"Well, that's the thing, ain't it," Sparrow raised his eyebrows. "You're already doing it, and yer don't even realise it."

"What're you talking about?"

"Yer makin' him human."

"Right." I looked at the ceiling and sighed. "Remind me never to bother asking you anything again."

"No, I mean it," Sparrow was suddenly urgent. "You don't see it, not yet, but I do."

He seemed earnest.

I decided to hear him out a little longer. "Okay. You say I'm making him human. How am I making him human?"

"Well, think about it, love. What makes someone human?"

I shrugged. "A heartbeat."

Sparrow sighed. "No, love. They start to care. The most human thing in the world, is to care. He's starting to care about you. And now, the rest will follow."

I laughed. "Capitán Salazar does _not_ care about me. Well, maybe he cares about what I know, but he doesn't care about _me_."

"Uh huh," Sparrow grinned. "You keep tellin' yerself that."

"Right. Well. I'm going to sleep." I lay down again.

Silence filled the cabin.

"Which means, you need to go," I growled.

"Fine," Sparrow clicked his tongue in disappointment. "But, let me know if yer ever need to get up in the middle of the night –"

"Out."

"I'm going."

"Good night."

"Later, love…"

"And Sparrow."

"Hmm?"

I wrinkled my nose. "Stop calling me 'love'. It's gross."

 

* * *

 

After Sparrow left, I lay in the hard bed, so different to my own at home, and kept my eyes determinedly closed. Breathing in the scent of damp feathers and old hay, feeling the constant rolling movement of the ship, I wondered if I'd ever fall asleep, when I finally slipped, exhausted, to float down into the soft darkness of sleep.

I was standing alone on the deck of the Silent Mary.

A thick fog surrounded the ship.

The Mary creaked, a hopeless sound, echoing eerily around me.

The echo faded, and then another sound started.

Whispering.

Whispering in the fog.

I listened. And then wished I didn't.

Words I hadn't heard in years, repeating the same old familiar things I'd tried to forget.

_Stupid girl._

_Useless bitch._

_Hope you die._

The Silent Mary creaked again, louder this time, insistent. She was trying to tell me something.

The deck didn't feel right beneath my feet. There wasn't any wind. No sounds of the sea. No smell of damp salty air. This… wasn't real.

I looked down at my hands, and they were _my_ hands. I was back in my own body… but I was not back – not really. Which meant – this was something else. Something else was invading my mind, bringing up all the worst things that had ever been said to me, and then flinging them at me like mud.

As though sensing my growing awareness, the harsh voice came back stronger than before.

_Stupid girl useless bitch hope you die you're nothing but a dumb c-_

"Really?" I cut it off. "Easy to say, hiding away in the fog. Why don't you come out and say it to my face?"

 _Who do you think you are?_ The voice snickered familiarly.

I hated that laugh. "Well, I'm braver than you!"

 _Fucking psycho!_ It spewed out in retaliation. _You slut! You'll never amount to anything! You'll end up in jail! You're a waste of oxygen! You're a liar! A filthy, ugly bitch!_

The backs of my eyes prickled and I sneered to stop myself from bursting into tears at the memories those words brought back.

"Is that the best you can come up with?" I said lightly. "Just repeating all that?"

Silence.

I shook my head. "Whoever you are, I would've thought you could be a _bit_ more creative."

Suddenly, the fog cleared a little.

And that was when I saw him – Capitán Salazar, leaning heavily on the ship's wheel, his shoulders hunched, his head bowed, as though bearing a heavy weight on his neck. And I heard the whispers around him.

"¡Eres un fracaso, Armando Salazar!" I heard them saying. "¡Yun cobarde!"

The same ones that had tried with me were surrounding him, telling him in Spanish what I just knew had to be nothing but awful, horrible lies.

"Ella nunca será lo que tú quieres que sea," the sound of their insidious whispering echoed around the ship. "¡Ella irá!"

I couldn't understand what was being said, but he nodded despairingly at the whispered words, slumping even further over the wheel, as if unable to argue back.

Whatever had tried to attack me was doing the exact same thing to him.

A fierce protectiveness rose up inside me for him.

"Capitán," I called out, starting towards him. "Don't listen to it –"

A sudden heaviness of being unwanted, of being a burden, of being undesirable and useless and helpless, fell on me like a suffocating shroud. My back bowed. My legs buckled under the weight of the attack, and I gasped as a searing agony rent through my chest. I fell forward onto my hands and knees.

"Get off!" I snarled at the weight.

But the snickering, sly laughter slid into my ears again, and the pressure tripled, trying to force me to my stomach.

 _Just die_ , it told me. _Die._

"Son of a bitch," I muttered.

The deck timbers tremored and whirled under my fists.

The deck of the Silent Mary started to turn into the cold, grey tiles of a kitchen floor, and in my hand was a gun, and in my mind the soothing suggestion that I end all the pain, all the despair, place the gun over my heart and squeeze the trigger, and finally release myself into the sweet relief of nothingness.

"I didn't give in then," I gritted my teeth. "There's no way I'm gonna do it now!"

With a strength I didn't even know I had, I got to my feet.

Before my eyes, glimpses of the pale grey kitchen warred with the sight of the Silent Mary's broken mast, but I pushed on towards where Capitán Salazar was now barely upright, only just managing to hold onto the Ship's wheel.

I didn't know why this was happening, but instinctively I knew I had to reach him – I knew this thing, this evil being or whatever it was, should not be allowed to win.

The deck started to sway, the edges of the ship melting and coagulating into a mess of fragmented white, the ship's wheel started to slip further and further away…

"Stop!" I commanded.

At once, the ship reformed, the deck solidifying once more under my feet, and Capitán Salazar was only a few feet away.

"Capitán!" my voice was hoarse as I reached out towards him. "Capitán Salazar!"

My hand closed over his grey one at the wheel.

He jolted, and I gasped – but not because of the heat. I gasped because the heat I'd been expecting _wasn't_ there. Touching him was exactly like touching him awake, with all the energy and emotion it caused... only there was no inexplicable burning this time.

He felt… normal.

And _real._

At my touch, he straightened and turned.

I looked up at the face before me in wonder.

"Capitán…" I whispered.

He was human.

Uncursed.

 _Alive_.

"Athena," he whispered back. "¿Cómo es que estás aquí?"

I opened my mouth to tell him I didn't understand, but then – he disappeared.

Capitán Salazar was gone.

"Athena?" I heard his voice again, but it was now coming from far away. "Wake up!"

The Silent Mary disappeared.

Warm dark enveloped me.

I was rising fast, shooting upwards through the warmth, and I reached out again to grab hold...

My hand fisted the brittle sleeves of a charred coat. I was in someone's arms, heaving choking breaths against the rough cloth on their shoulder, gasping out delirious gratitude at being awake.

"Es un mal sueño," rumbled a low voice in my ear, "It is The Nightmare, Athena. You pulled me out of La Pesadilla…"

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPANISH TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> Eres un fracas – You're a failure
> 
> Yun cobarde – And a coward/you coward
> 
> Ella nunca será lo que tú quieres que sea – She'll never be what you want her to be.
> 
> ¡Ella irá! - She'll leave
> 
> Athena? ... ¿Cómo es que estás aquí? - Athena? ... How are you here?
> 
> Es un mal sueño – It's a bad dream
> 
> La Pesadilla – The Nightmare


	12. The Trident of Poseidon

_My hand fisted the brittle sleeves of a charred coat. I was in someone's arms, heaving choking breaths against the rough cloth on their shoulder, gasping out delirious gratitude at being awake._

_"Es un mal sueño," rumbled a low voice in my ear, "It is The Nightmare, Athena. You pulled me out of La Pesadilla…"_

 

* * *

 

"Capitán," I instinctively squeezed my hands around his arms, reassuring myself it was real, that this was the real world, and pulled him even closer, burying my face against his weightless hair. He smelled of ash and old blood, but he was _real._ After the scentless, suffocating nightmare I'd just been in, his smell was welcome. I breathed him in gratefully.

"Athena," he asked softly. "What are you doing?"

I froze, before pulling suddenly back.

"I'm – I'm s-sorry!" I stuttered. "I – it's just – I've never had a nightmare as bad as that before!"

I let go of him, aware now that I had practically been pulling him on top of me onto the bed, but he didn't seem too bothered. Resting two fists on either side of me, his weight pulling the bedcovers taut across my legs, he tilted his head, staring down at me.

"You really were there..." he said. "Tell me what it was like? For you?"

"It was awful! It was like being suffocated," I rushed out. "No smells, no _air_ , nothing except that voice, wanting me to die… what _was_ that?"

"Like I said, The Nightmare," he said softly. "I have it, from time to time. We all do. But I have never had anyone share them with me before…"

"Share them?" I swallowed. "You mean, you – that really was _you_? In my – in my nightmare?"

"Sí," he nodded. "Though, I believe it is more correct to say, you were in _my_ nightmare."

I recalled his words from earlier. "But you said you don't sleep..."

"It's part of my curse," he explained. "I don't sleep, but I still – have visions. They are like being in a living nightmare. Sometimes, they're... bearable. Mostly, they are not."

"And I was in it."

"You were." He looked at me. "And you woke me from it."

"How is that even possible?" I whispered. "For me to be in your Nightmare?"

"I don't know." His eyebrows drew together, as he puzzled over it. "But I'm glad you woke me. Sometimes, they last many hours."

"Hours?"

"Time moves differently in the Nightmare. And never the same way twice. You've been asleep for awhile, Athena." Salazar glanced out the cabin windows. "The sun will be rising soon."

I gasped. I could have sworn it had only been five minutes. But somehow, hours had passed while I had been in it. "That long?"

"Once, The Nightmare lasted two days. But for me, it felt like years."

I shuddered. "How have you survived?"

"Well," he shrugged ruefully. "At least, I can't die again."

"But – it's awful, the things it says."

"What things?" He said sharply.

"It called me every bad name I've ever been called in my life," I told him. "It reminded me of people I haven't thought about in years. People who hurt me. And it wanted me to kill myself. Tried to make me think of the worst time I'd ever had in my life, and then – then tried to make me kill myself."

He was very still as he absorbed my words.

"I knew it was saying the same sort of things to you," I felt the same anger again that I'd had before, the same fierce need to stop it. "I didn't know what it was saying, but I knew it must've been bad."

Capitán Salazar relaxed a little. "You didn't understand?"

"No – but whatever it said, it was bullshit." I said bluntly. "Lies."

"Hmmm," he leant back, gazing at me.

I shifted and sat up, uncomfortable under his scrutiny, but trying to cover my discomfort. I twisted my fingers in the stiff sheets, wondering if I should ask him what the voice had said to him, but not sure if I should. Or if he'd even tell me.

"You were so clear," he said suddenly.

"I'm sorry?"

"In that place. In The Nightmare. I saw you so clearly, clearer than I see you now."

"I saw you change!" I remembered. "You were – human."

"And I felt you," Salazar answered. "But not like I do when we're awake. You felt..."

"Normal." I nodded.

A soft knock sounded on the cabin door. Immediately, Salazar rolled his eyes.

"¡Me tienen que interrumpir!" he groaned.

Even though I had no idea what he'd just said, his eyeroll was so unexpectedly sassy, I had to stop myself from laughing.

He heard my stifled chuckle, and glanced at me, surprised.

"Capitán," came Lieutenant Lesaro's voice through the door. "Lo siento, Capitán, but the maid says she must see you. About the Trident."

Salazar reluctantly stood, and went to the door. Opening it, he found a crowd on his doorstep.

"Capitán," Lieutenant gestured apologetically behind him to where two of his officers were holding Eleni. "I'm sorry to trouble you, Capitán, but she is wanting to speak with you."

Salazar glared at Eleni, peeping out from behind his Lieutenant's shoulder, frowning as she spied me standing and moving towards the dining table.

"Take her away," Salazar said drily, beginning to close the door again. "I have had my fill of interruptions today."

At once, Eleni was angry. "You'd be making a stupide mistake!"

Even from where I was, I could see Lieutenant Lesaro's eyes widening.

Salazar stiffened. "¿Perdon?"

"I said, you would be making a stupide mistake!" Eleni repeated loudly.

Salazar paused, his hand still on the door latch.

"Lieutenant Lesaro," his hand tightened into a fist. "It seems the prisoner in your charge is mistaking my acceptance of her offer, for license to be disrespectful to me."

"Forgive me, Capitán," Lesaro said. "Officers Moss and Cortez will escort her immediately –"

"Let go, putain de crétins!" Eleni shoved off the two who were holding her, before pushing furiously past Salazar into the cabin. "I will not wait any longer! Not when you 'ave said John's life is at stake!"

"Eleni!" Lesaro gasped.

"Ah," Salazar cast a sympathetic look at Lesaro, "The French. All this sudden courage for love, eh?"

Lesaro stepped into the cabin and tried to guide Eleni back out, but she wasn't having it.

"I am not leaving!" Eleni insisted.

"Antonio! Nico!" Lesaro hissed at the officers, who stood uncertainly in their Capitán's doorway. "Don't just stand there!"

"You said I 'ad to 'elp if I wanted to save John! And so I will!" Eleni disdainfully cast them all a threatening look. "At least, if this idiot would let me!"

Lesaro sighed and muttered under his breath, as though this was not the first time she'd called him that.

Salazar scowled at her.

"You are on the edge of a knife, insulting my Lieutenant!" Salazar warned coldly. "Careful you do not slip!"

Eleni jutted her chin out in defiance.

"I _must_ see this Trident, Capitán Salazar! Your Lieutenant says you keep it. Unless you 'ave been brainless enough to leave it at the bottom of the sea!"

Salazar's fists clenched and unclenched at his side, as though yearning for the sword he'd left on the table. "¡No permitiré que me trates así!"

Eleni opened her mouth as though to say something even more insulting, when Sparrow materialised suddenly in the middle of the cabin.

"Oh good!" he flashed a grin at everyone. "A garden party!"

"Dios mío," Salazar almost shouted, turning to face Sparrow. "¿Qué mierda quieres?"

Eleni jumped at the Capitán's volume, thinking Salazar was addressing her.

Lesaro stepped in front of Eleni, an alarmed look on his face. "Por favor, Capitán, forgive us! We will leave immediately!"

"I'm not leaving without seeing the Trident!" Eleni interjected.

Sparrow grinned. "Aye, go on, show her the Trident, mate!"

Salazar's eyes glowed a fiery red, and his snarling lips dripped black, and I knew he was a hair's breadth away from doing violence.

"Please," I said. "Don't."

Capitán Salazar halted.

An unexpected silence fell over the entire cabin.

Salazar didn't look at me, but I know he heard me. He stood without moving, seemingly for the longest time, and I thought that he might yet vent the intense rage barely contained inside him. But then his shoulders relaxed, and he turned away from Sparrow.

"Bien," he said curtly, before addressing the two officers still standing in the doorway, "Nico. Antonio."

As the Capitán stalked away, Sparrow slid me a sly wink behind Salazar's back, while Lieutenant Lesaro looked at me with dawning respect.

Eleni only pouted, seeming annoyed that Lesaro had shot me a look at all, and glared at him.

Cortez and Moss approached the dining table where I stood.

Pressing two wooden buttons in opposite corners of the table, right in front of me, they released a hidden drawer. I stared as a wide drawer sprung open, revealing a sword that looked suspiciously familiar.

"Captain Barbossa's sword…" Eleni whispered in awe.

"Dammit," I muttered.

Salazar's black lips twisted into a smirk as his two officers moved back.

"Lástima, Athena," he shook his head, coming forward to the table. "Now I must find a new place to hide this."

Salazar took the Sword of Triton in his hand, and pulled the drawer out further. Nestled in the felt-lined interior, were what looked like broken pieces of off-coloured coral, among scattered fragments of amber.

"Here," he gestured for Eleni to come and see. "Come and see what's left of the Trident."

Tentatively, Eleni stepped forward to peer at the remains of the Trident of Poseidon.

Sparrow sidled alongside, in that flickering way he had, to look as well.

"Now, perhaps you can tell me why," Salazar asked, as he took slow, measured steps around the table, the Sword of Triton still in his hand, "If the Trident is broken, why my men and I are still Cursed?"

Eleni's hand hovered over the broken pieces, and I saw her close her eyes as she murmured to herself.

Salazar came to a stop next to me as she examined them, but he watched the French maid until she finally breathed out, and looked up.

"The power is gone," she announced. "Whatever power was in the Trident, it is no longer there."

Salazar flung the sword of Triton down on the dining table, where it clattered against his own sword before spinning sideways on its halberd.

"¡Nosotros lo sabemos!" He cried, his mood flipping instantly. "I did not need you to tell me what is _obvious_!"

"Mon dieu," Eleni cried, "You do not need to _shout_ at me!"

"Temper, temper," Sparrow grinned.

Lesaro came swiftly to stand near Eleni.

"We already knew this," the Lieutenant said quietly, with a meaningful look at his Capitán. "What does it have to do with our Curse not being broken?"

"Well, it's simple, really," Sparrow leant casually on the table "You're all still Cursed cause of the _way_ the Trident was broken."

"No tengo por qué oír esto," Salazar scowled, and I could see he was about to rage at the annoying ghost until Sparrow disappeared again. "Go away!"

"No, wait," I said to Salazar. "We should hear what he has to say!"

I saw Eleni looking at me strangely out of the corner of my eye, but I had to convince Salazar to let Sparrow stay first before I could explain anything to her.

"And what," Salazar growled under his breath to me, "Do I benefit from listening to a pirate?"

"Because he might know something useful!" I turned to Sparrow. "Please, just tell him what you mean."

"Would love to!" He made a show of getting himself comfortable on the table top again, spreading his legs wide with a wink at me. "Do anything for a lady with such _magnificent_ legs! You stopped to look at 'em yet, Spanish?" He added, as Capitán Salazar turned to me, as though realising for the first time that I was very under-dressed for the current company.

"Oh, don't ever cover up, love," Sparrow grinned when I folded my arms over my chest uncomfortably. "I got a good eyeful once you left, El Capitán, she showed me everything –"

" _What_ did you say?" Salazar snarled, stalking towards Jack.

"Oh, please, don't!" I stalled Salazar quickly with a hand on his sleeve, before telling Sparrow sternly. "Just tell us without all the bullshit!"

Eleni frowned. "Who _are_ you talking to?"

"Captain Jack Sparrow," he grinned, though he knew Eleni couldn't hear him. "The best pirate –"

"No one," Salazar snapped. "No one, and he should take his monkey chatter away, if he knew what was good for him!"

"Why shouldn't darling Athena know the whole story too? Poor old Guillermo there has been having to tell the French trollop about it enough."

"¡Cállate!" Lesaro growled.

Eleni looked between us all, confused. "What is going on?"

I glanced at Salazar, wondering if he was going to tell Eleni about Jack Sparrow's ghost or not.

"Gui," Eleni turned to Lesaro, her face transforming winsomely, her hand sliding onto his arm, "S'il vous plait, tell me why is everyone acting so strange?"

Lesaro looked reluctantly down at her hand. "Por favor, Señorita, but I asked you not to do that."

"Ah, you Spanish are all so stubborn!" Eleni exclaimed, dropping her hand at once.

Lesaro grimaced, but did not reply, his eyes seeking his Capitán's for permission to tell Eleni himself – which Salazar did not give.

"I would prefer," Salazar said heavily, "That one cierto _cabrón_ would leave –"

"Oh, go on, Spanish, have a bit of fun for once!" Sparrow flung his arms out dramatically. "Not like it's gonna kill yer!"

"And take that irritating voice with them!" Salazar shouted.

Eleni folded her arms, deeply offended. "Parfait! You do not want my 'elp, then can I assume our bargain is satisfied?"

I didn't miss the way she glanced meaningfully at me.

"Quiet," Salazar told Eleni. "I am – thinking."

An awkward pause followed.

Cortez and Moss both glanced uncertainly at Lesaro. I guessed they didn't know if they were to stay in the cabin, or leave with Eleni; but Lesaro made no response to their silent question. He simply watched the Capitán, shoulders rigid with worry and expression anxious, and waited.

"Well," Sparrow cleared his throat loudly, apparently enjoying the awkwardness, "While Spanish is pretending to 'think' for the benefit of Frenchie over there, how about I be the one to tell Athena then?" Giving Salazar no time to object, Sparrow turned to me. "Yer see, love, when the Trident of Poseidon was broken, everything was supposed to be all happily ever after, one big fairytale ending. Spanish here would've been alive an' human, I suspect – if it weren't for one very simple little detail..."

Sparrow paused, his grin widening.

"He stabbed me through the heart with the Trident, right at the _exact_ same time it was broken."

The casual, amused way he'd described his own death made me cold.

Salazar scowled, and turned abruptly away to pace towards the slanted windows.

Eleni crossed her arms impatiently, thinking Salazar was taking his time to consider again the bargain she'd mentioned.

"Por favor, Señorita Eleni," Lesaro drew her away to the side. "Let the Capitán have some minutes' peace."

"Peuh!" Eleni scoffed. "For 'ow long? You said 'e would be willing to listen – "

"Eleni, you must be patient…" Lesaro continued talking quietly to her, too quietly for anyone else in the cabin to hear.

"So," Sparrow continued with a grin. "All that magical power, released – but… let's just say that instead of running wild an' free after its prison was broken, the magic got a bit… confused."

"¡Odio la magia!" Salazar muttered, scowling at him over his shoulder.

I frowned impatiently at Sparrow's deliberately vague explanation.

"What do you mean, confused?" I kept my voice down, well aware that for whatever reason, Salazar didn't wish for Eleni to know about Jack.

"Reckon it got confused by all the blood," Sparrow said. "Reckon was my blood what stopped it from running free."

"But why would your blood stop it?" I asked.

"Who knows?" The pirate shrugged. "Maybe it was because the Trident was supposed to be used to control the seas, not kill someone. Maybe because I wasn't supposed to die. I dunno. All I know is, my blood stopped the power from being released properly."

He paused, and his grin turned wicked as he eyed the Capitán again where he hunched, back turned against us.

"So, the power of the Trident went into the next nearest vessel it could find."

I stilled, glancing at Eleni. She didn't even seem to be aware that I'd been whispering to a person she couldn't see. Her gaze was still riveted on Lesaro, and she was speaking in a low tone to him, even as the Lieutenant was discreetly glancing towards us, trying to follow what was being said.

"So what was the vessel?" I asked. "Was it like a sword or something?"

Sparrow chuckled. "No, love. It was a _magical_ vessel."

"Can you _for_ _once_ give a straight answer –" I snapped.

Salazar turned.

"Athena," he said softly.

He looked defeated.

As if he'd finally realised something he hadn't wanted to. Something he'd known, but hadn't wanted to accept. He looked... vulnerable.

"What the Sparrow is saying, is that the power of the Trident of Poseidon," Capitán Salazar said softly, "Lives in me."

I stared as the implications of this sank in.

"You –?" I said slowly.

He nodded.

"And the only way to break our Curse... is to destroy _me_."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FRENCH AND SPANISH TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> ¡Me tienen que interrumpir! – They have to interrupt me
> 
> Lo siento – I'm sorry
> 
> No permitiré que me trates así – I will not be addressed in that manner
> 
> Dios mío - Oh my god
> 
> ¿Qué mierda quieres? – What the f**k do you want?
> 
> Bien – Fine/alright
> 
> Lástima – Too bad
> 
> ¡Nosotros lo sabemos! – We know
> 
> No tengo por qué oír esto – I don't have to hear this
> 
> Cállate – Shut up
> 
> Cierto cabrón – certain bastard
> 
> Parfait - Fine/perfect
> 
> ¡Odio la magia! – I hate magic


	13. The Knife

"Well," Jack made a face. "I wouldn't go so far as to say you need to be _destroyed_ –"

"Destroyed?" Lesaro looked worriedly at his Capitán.

Seeing Lesaro was paying her no attention, Eleni lost all patience, and came forward to the table again.

"Mon dieu! _What_ is going on?" She glared at Salazar. "Are you still wanting me to lift your Curse or not?"

"Sí," Salazar looked at her with barely disguised distaste. "But, Señorita, the question is how."

"Señorita Eleni," Lesaro spoke through tight lips. "You need to help us safely release the power of the Trident! You were the one who said you could!"

"What do you mean, _safely_ release?" Eleni said suspiciously, as Salazar turned away. "The Trident is empty, there is nothing in it!"

"He means the Capitán himself," I said, when it became apparent neither were willing to say it. "The power of the Trident… is inside him."

Eleni stared between Lesaro and Salazar. "And when were you going to tell me this?"

"We didn't know!" Lesaro said.

"Didn't want to know," Salazar muttered. "Didn't want to listen."

Sparrow grinned and swung his legs where he still sat on the edge of the table. "Nice to see yer takin' such strides forward in admittin' yer own faults –"

"Por favor, Señorita," Lesaro pleaded stiffly with Eleni, "But tell me you have a solution to free our Capitán and lift our Curse!"

"Oui, of course," Eleni snapped. "Here is a solution! Your Capitán stabs himself with the pieces of the Trident, right here and now. Voila!"

Lesaro drew in a shocked breath at her audacity, but Salazar, to my surprise, gave a wry grimace.

"Kill myself, Señorita? Does a Capitán dishonour himself by taking the coward's way out?"

"It would release your men!" Eleni said. "There is no dishonour in that!"

"Then perhaps, I should go the whole way, and let someone else kill me, on my knees, like a pathetic wretch?" He locked eyes with me. "Perhaps Athena might volunteer?"

"Capitán!" Lesaro was shocked. "I would never let it happen!"

"Not even if I commanded it?"

"We could _not_ allow it!" Lesaro exchanged looks with his fellow officers, who also looked deeply worried.

"Uh," Sparrow held up a finger. "Might I just say something –?"

"Well, Athena? Would you?" Ignoring Sparrow, Salazar looked back at me. "Would you kill me?"

I truly couldn't tell if he was serious or not. "Why – why would you ask me?"

Impatient, Salazar strode towards me. "Would you have the courage for it, if I asked?"

I swallowed. "No…"

Even having him stand close to me was starting to spread waves of heat over my thinly covered skin. "No, I think – I think you know I'm not – I'm not capable of that."

"Still so afraid, so unwilling," he tilted his head. "Even with the lives of so many others in the balance."

"Now, see here," Sparrow chipped in, "No need for all the theatrics, mate! You're being –"

"I was not asking _you_!" Salazar snapped at him.

"Look, I'm just sayin' mate –" Sparrow objected.

"Excusez-moi," Eleni announced, with a flinty look, "But do not make her do what you are afraid to!"

Salazar's eyes fired at her words, but Eleni was angry.

"Everything Gui has told me, about how you killed that pirate with the Trident, about the young man 'Enry Turner, who smashed it at the same time –"

"Ah, yes," Sparrow chimed in. "He meant well –"

"– it is no wonder to me you are all still Cursed! Therefore, _you_ ," she eyed Salazar with even more of the same new-found courage she'd had since entering the cabin, "Must find a way to break yourself and release the power. Otherwise, you are Cursed forever."

Sparrow opened his mouth to say something, but Lesaro beat him to it, breaking all etiquette in desperation as he pleaded with his oldest friend. "No! I cannot – Armando, since we were boys, I promised I would always protect you –"

"But she's right, Gui," Salazar answered sombrely. "I must find a way to do it. It is a reasonable solution."

"But it's not the only solution!" Jack finally got a word in. "You want that power out, you just gotta change the container for it! Like – rum goes in bottles, cos that's the right container for it! Yer wouldn't put rum in a teacup – though sometimes Hector had funny ideas 'bout that, an' once, he went so far as to –"

"What are you saying?" Salazar scowled.

Eleni frowned again; it was completely apparent to her now that Salazar appeared to be directing his question towards a very specific place in the cabin, and not to her. For the first time, Eleni began to stare hard at the spot that Sparrow was occupying.

"I'm sayin' yer gotta stop being the right container for it!" Sparrow threw me a significant glance. "All yer gotta do, is turn human again, and I reckon that power won't be able to sit in you anymore, it's gonna come out and find another vessel."

"Turn human," Salazar huffed sarcastically. "He says I must turn human, as though it's that easy!"

"But it _is_ that easy, mate," Sparrow said softly. "More things have turned human that never were in the first place than you know, just because they decided to. Be human, I mean."

"Tell me how it can be done." Salazar said. "Tell me how I can just suddenly become human again."

"Ah," Jack flashed a grin and sat up straight. "Now that, is what I've been waitin' for you to ask me, for a long time."

Salazar glared at him.

Lesaro tensed.

Eleni was very quiet now, all her focus in Sparrow's direction, straining to hear.

"I'll tell you how it can be done," Jack said slyly, "But you need to do somethin' f'me."

"No. No, no, no, no, no!" Salazar whirled away, enraged. "There is nothing, _nothing_ that I will agree to do for you!"

"Por favor, Capitán," Lesaro stepped forward. "What alternative do we have?"

"I am not doing anything for _him_!"

"Oh," Eleni stared at all of us. "You are talking with – the pirate you killed?"

She stared hard again in the direction of Sparrow, who winked and wiggled his heavily ringed fingers at her.

"Eleni?" Lesaro was surprised. "You can see him now too?"

"No, but I can hear him. A little." She looked at Salazar. "Whoever it is you are talking to, they may be – right. About the power of the Trident."

Sparrow rocked back smugly on the table.

"Course I'm right!" He declared.

"If there is another vessel for the power to go into," Eleni continued, "It may be possible to draw it out, and put it in something else."

Eleni looked around at us, as though making up her mind to do something, before huffing and nodding to herself.

"Well," Sparrow frowned as he considered Eleni's words. "I still think it'll just go on its own accord, once Spanish…"

Sparrow's voice faded as Eleni started to lift her skirts.

Lesaro's gulp was audible as, without a single apparent care for her audience, Eleni bared her stockinged legs in the cabin. Holding her skirts up above her knees with one hand, she unclasped a leather sheath she'd had strapped across the top of her thigh and drew out a knife – the same knife that I thought I'd dropped on the deck of the Proserpine. The knife she'd promised could be pivotal in sending me home.

"How convenient," I couldn't help the sarcasm. "Would've been nice to know there was a sheath for the knife. But that would've been too helpful, wouldn't it?"

For a single second, her eyes met mine, and I was sure she was trying to tell me something – communicate something vital – before she flicked her gaze carelessly away without answering.

"Aww," Sparrow complained as Eleni dropped her skirts again.

If Lesaro could've gone pale, he would have.

"Dios mío!" Lesaro exclaimed. "How long have you had that?"

Eleni shot him a saucy wink, the knife flashing in the dull light of the cabin with a well-practiced flick of her wrist. "You were too much of a gentleman! You should 'ave searched me more thoroughly, I think."

"S – S-señorita," Lesaro's mouth dropped open.

"Quel est le problème? You only 'ad to lift my skirts, Lieutenant Lesaro." Eleni held the knife like a fan. "And you would 'ave instantly discovered my secret."

A muffled snort of laughter came from Moss, but when I looked he'd assumed a perfect poker face – though next to him, the corners of Cortez's lips turned up ever so slightly.

"You didn't search her?" Salazar's voice was dangerously soft as he looked between Eleni and Lesaro.

"Oh, Capitán," Eleni pretended to sigh. "Your Lieutenant is too gentle, but do not punish 'im for 'aving the manners."

"Lo s-siento, Capitán," Lesaro stammered. "I – I didn't –"

"Está bien," Salazar suddenly waved away Lesaro's apology, and lapsed into a thoughtful silence as he regarded the knife Eleni held.

"See?" Eleni said consolingly to Lesaro. "You are not in trouble."

"Trouble," Lesaro muttered under his breath. "More trouble than I want to be in, Señorita."

Sparrow chuckled, before sliding a glance at me. "Since we're all in a sharing mood, _you_ wouldn't happen to have anything under your –"

"¡Cállate!" Salazar cut off Sparrow's innuendo, and stalked towards Eleni. "Let me have it!"

I thought Eleni might argue with him, but she merely shrugged and gave it to him.

Salazar turned it over in his hand.

"It _is_ magic," he said. "I can feel it."

He looked up at Eleni.

"Can you draw it out of me?" He asked frankly.

"Oui," she nodded. "To reverse it, the blade must touch blood."

I froze, but Eleni was making every effort _not_ to look at me while Salazar loomed over her.

I remembered what Eleni had said to me, back in Lady Stanhope's cabin on the Proserpine: _you seal the spell with blood…_ was she trying to help send me home? Or was she just trying to finish the love spell she'd started? I had an uneasy feeling in my stomach.

"So," Eleni said to him, "If you are holding the knife as it touches blood, it will wake the power of the Trident inside you again. Just as it was when you killed Sparrow, only now it will come out of you and go into the knife."

"Blood…" Salazar laughed hollowly. "Whose blood, Señorita? My blood stopped flowing long ago."

Eleni shrugged, before tilting her chin in my direction.

"Her blood will do."

Salazar did not even look at me, but I saw the immediate tension in his shoulders at Eleni's casual suggestion.

"You are only repeating what happened before," Eleni continued blithely. "Making a copy of the circumstances that brought the power to flow from the Trident into you. So if you do the same again, it will flow out of you and into the knife."

Salazar's voice was cold. "Are you suggesting I kill Athena?"

Eleni paled a little – something she saw in Salazar's face seemed to frighten her – but she managed to shrug. "No, Capitán, just a cut. Just enough for a little blood."

"But how do I know the power will not simply go from me into Athena?" Salazar's voice was low. "How will I know it will stop at the knife?"

"Because the knife is magic, and she is not!" Eleni betrayed her impatience. "The power will go to the knife, and then you can destroy the knife and your Curse will be broken!"

Salazar was silent.

"She will suffer nothing, Capitán," Eleni said, trying to be persuasive. "Your Curse will be broken, and then I will leave with John, and do what I told you I would: make it so that everyone forgets about the Silent Mary."

Eleni cast the briefest of glances at me, before looking Capitán Salazar in the eye.

"No one will remember anyone who is aboard this ship. No one will come after you, and you will all be free to return to Spain. Just as I promised."

I felt hot and cold all at the same time, as I heard Eleni for the first time spell out the exact nature of the bargain she'd made with Capitán Salazar.

Her bargain hadn't _just_ been to break the curse in exchange for Scarfield's and her freedom – it had also been a bargain that Salazar would keep me prisoner. And in exchange for him keeping me, she would make it so that no one would ever remember I even existed. She'd cast a spell that would make everyone forget.

Only Salazar didn't know that cutting me with the knife might just send me back to the future. He didn't know it meant the real Lady Stanhope might return back to her own body.

Eleni's eyes didn't even flicker as she stood firmly in front of the Capitán, her expression did not falter for even a microsecond. She was taking a huge risk lying to Salazar.

Salazar, who only had to look at me and know when I was telling the truth and when I was holding back. Salazar, the most skilled lie detector I'd ever met.

He tilted his head once as he studied Eleni.

"You are misguided if you think I believe you." He finally said after a tense moment. "Officer Cortez, take this woman and put her below with the rest. I have no more need for her or her bargains."

Eleni's mouth dropped open in shock.

"But – but –" she protested.

"Officer Moss," Salazar addressed him formally, "I require privacy. Take Athena to Officer Magda's rooms. Make sure to lock her in. Magda and Santos can move below decks until further notice."

"Sí, Capitán," He was at my side immediately, a cold hand under my elbow, ready to escort me from the cabin.

"Wait," Salazar raked a glance over me in my short shift. "Lend this lady your coat. I won't have her parading herself on my ship like a _puta_ , for my men to stare at."

Lesaro addressed Salazar with a steady voice. "Capitán, it would be better for Señorita Eleni to be separate from the other prisoners."

"Why?"

"She is –" Lesaro hesitated a fraction, "Devious."

Eleni stared at Lesaro, a look of hurt and anger on her face; but Lesaro ignored her.

"To put her with other men, who she could easily manipulate into attempting something – foolish – is asking for trouble that we do not have time for."

"Ah," Salazar looked thoughtfully at his Lieutenant. "Then find somewhere where she will be out of the way."

Lesaro nodded, and he and Cortez took Eleni out of the cabin, her muttered complaints fading with her.

As I shrugged on Moss' charred coat, Salazar turned away, tucking Eleni's knife inside a pocket in his coat.

"You, Sparrow." Salazar looked as though he were about to swallow something extremely distasteful. "You will talk. Now."

As I was led away, the Capitán turned to look at me.

"I will speak with you again soon, Athena," he said, his face impassive.

I saw Sparrow grin and wink as Salazar turned his back to me, right before the door was shut.

"Come, Señorita," Moss said quietly. "I will help you find some better clothes."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FRENCH AND SPANISH TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> Quel est le problème - What's the problem?
> 
> Lo siento - I'm sorry
> 
> Está bien - It's fine
> 
> Cállate - Shut up


	14. The Inventory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: I love every character on the Silent Mary. All of them. I love them all to pieces, but in truth I strongly suspect they wouldn’t all be... unbothered, to have Athena on board, as Capitán Salazar apparently is.
> 
> (Minor amendments made to some of the dialogue in this chapter as of 8 Jan 2019)

An orange strip along the slate-grey horizon hailed the approaching dawn, and threw into sharp relief the jagged barricades of St Martin. Faint stars still glittered overhead in an indigo sky, but there was enough growing light for me to make out, in the distance, a cluster of sails: ships that were steadily sailing towards St Martin's bay.

As Moss' grip kept me struggling to match his strides along the deck, I saw more ships had arrived in the night, manoeuvring alongside one another to form a line just offshore.

St Martin was either preparing their defences against a possible attack – or preparing to make a stand against the Silent Mary. I hoped it was for defence. The ghosts of the Silent Mary could survive an attack, but not the living. Not the human prisoners on board.

The Proserpine and the Queen Anne remained anchored nearby, deserted. I was surprised that the Proserpine hadn't been sunk in the battle. But they were still there, and relatively intact. Perhaps Capitán Salazar had plans for both ships. If nothing else, they would provide some cover, I supposed, should the ships gathering at St Martin actually launch an attack.

"Come," Officer Moss pressed me forward. "We cannot be idle."

I glanced at him, and realised we were being watched. Around us, the crew of the Silent Mary had stopped all activity, all eyes trained on us as Moss escorted me to the other end of the long deck.

I hadn't seen where Lesaro had taken Eleni; but I had a suspicion, from the effect my presence seemed to be having, that it had not been anywhere out on deck.

The living-dead crew looked at me like I'd walked into the lion enclosure at a zoo. And they were the lions.

Officer Moss' grip on me tightened as he walked me past a trio of deckhands near the broken mainmast, their unblinking yellow eyes trained on me, chins tipped down, expressions predatory.

"Don't look, Señorita," he said out of the corner of his mouth. "Ladies do not look at deckhands."

I jerked my head away, but then frowned. Was this really how women had to live in this century? Don't look, don't speak, just show as much bosom as you can get away with and that's it?

"I'm not a lady," I mutter back; but he didn't answer, or loosen his grip.

We were approaching the forward part of the ship, which had matching turrets to the ones at the back. There was a raised deck ahead, leading up to the turrets; but I was led down steps to the cabins under the raised deck.

After a brief tap on an algae-covered door, Moss shoved it open with one hand.

"Dame un segundo, por favor," he said to me, letting go of me.

I blinked at the Spanish, which led to him clarifying briefly, "Wait here, please."

He stepped in, leaving the cabin door open, and addressed a figure I could see seated inside.

"Officer Magda," I heard him say.

"Antonio," came the dry response.

I strained to listen to the low string of Spanish after that, to see if I could pick out any familiar sounding words, but all I could understand was the repetition of 'Capitán' between them.

As I waited, I glanced around at the Mary. It was the first time I'd really had a chance to have a proper look at it since I'd been brought aboard. The Mary really was a forbidding ship; its size dwarfed even the ostentatiously gilded Queen Anne. I could still see the turrets from where I stood, the lip of a cannon resting out of a porthole, ready to fire at approaching enemies. Although, I didn't remember them firing any cannons in response to Barbossa's surprise assault. Perhaps they'd lost all their cannonballs a long time ago. Or simply didn't need them anymore.

A soft creak behind me made me turn around. The three deckhands we'd passed before were now standing there, close, watching. They were distinctly unfriendly. One of them, wearing a stocking cap, drew his lips back in a black snarl...

I could not wait outside any longer. I stepped into the cabin, deciding I'd rather risk Officer Moss' potential anger than spend another moment with the menacing ghosts outside.

Inside, Officer Magda was staring, mouth parted, at Officer Moss.

I swiftly glanced back: outside, the three deckhands came closer. Fearing they would actually follow me in, I closed the cabin door firmly, scraping it over the water-logged wood until it wedged shut.

"Ella va a quedar aquí." Moss was sounding aggravated.

"¿Perdón?" Magda pivoted in his seat at the roll top desk, elegant quill in his long fingers, cracked features creased with growing disbelief.

His glance at me as I turned to face him could not be more incredulous, and he deliberately chose to switch to English. "This – woman – is what?"

"I said, she is to sleep here," Moss followed the switch in language with a slight frown. "Temporarily."

Officer Magda looked at the two narrow beds on either side of his desk with a raised brow.

"And how, may I ask, is that to be accomplished?"

He eyed me disdainfully, from my bare feet to my knees and up to my face, not even disguising a sneer when he recognised I was wearing Moss' coat, and that it barely covered me. I pulled Moss' coat tighter around me, feeling dishevelled and grubby under his critical eye.

"Is Santos to bunk with me, or is she actually proposing to share a bed with an officer of the Spanish Armada?"

"It is the Capitán's orders," Moss responded tightly. "You and Santos are to vacate your cabin until further notice, and the lady is to be sequestered here, under guard."

"He sent you to carry out his orders?" Magda asked.

Moss stiffened at Magda's veiled scorn.

"Please," I sensed the rising tension and began to back away towards the door. "I don't want to put anyone out, I can go somewhere else –"

"Sí! He did!" Without looking, Moss reached out and placed a hand on my elbow, while he maintained a level gaze with Magda. "Would you like me to actually tell Capitán Salazar that you are unwilling to move?"

"Of course not." Magda dropped his quill in the inkwell on his desk and rolled up the long list he'd been writing. "But shall I tell Officer Santos that he is to vacate the cabin, or will you?"

"¿Que?" Moss frowned.

"Well, Antonio," he gave Moss a patronising smile, "I would be very interested to see how you tell Diego that he must leave his bed to bunk with the common sailors below decks..."

At that moment, almost as if on cue, the door opened and Officer Santos stood there.

He'd barely spoken to me directly before, nor stayed longer in my presence than a mere second or two, when he'd shut me in the Capitán's cabin, but now he stood in the doorway: flaking black ash floating in the empty space where his stomach would've been, his damaged pupils staring at Moss, then Magda, and resting last of all on me.

"Ah," Magda smiled a little, the cracks on his cheeks folding in as he did, "Santos. Young Moss is here to tell us our Capitán's commands in regards to the, ah, lady."

Feeling more out of place than ever, I shrank a little towards Moss' side, and wished the Capitán had just ordered me to be put with the other prisoners.

"Go on, Moss, tell Officer Santos what you just told me."

Santos came inside and closed the door quietly behind him.

Moss stiffened, but said calmly, "The Capitán has ordered that the Lady is to remain under guard here, until further notice."

"And you're welcome, Lady Athena," Santos bowed towards me. "Allow me to take some things first, and then you may have the cabin to yourself."

Magda's mouth dropped open.

Santos proceeded smoothly past Magda, removing a small cloth bag hung up on a hook in the wall and packing the pile of books on the floor by his bed neatly into it.

Moss looked triumphant.

"Come, Miguel," Santos gathered up the last of his things. "Our Capitán has ordered it."

"Sí. I am late."

Magda recovered from his surprise swiftly, though his cold eyes promised this was not something he would quickly forget.

"The Lieutenant will be waiting for the inventory of the Proserpine's supplies." Magda said lightly to Moss. "Perhaps, there may even be something more – appropriate for the –  _lady_ to wear, amongst the things we found aboard."

With that parting jab, he moved gracefully out of the cabin, rolled up parchment in hand.

Santos bowed once more, as though I were nobility, making me feel even more embarrassed then ever at his sincere deference.

"Please, don't," I shook my head at him. "Don't bow, it's not necessary."

"A true officer knows a lady by her character, not her dress," he said quietly. "And I do not forget the courtesy due a lady."

With a nod at Moss, he left the cabin.

"Ignore Officer Magda," Moss turned to me as soon as they'd gone. "He's not always like that."

"No, I get it," I breathed in. "I mean, it's not exactly great, being told to get out of your own room."

"Well, you may not be here long. The Capitán said we are to guard you, but if we can break our curse…"

He lowered his voice, as though struggling not to lose hold of the hope in his words.

"If we become human again, I overheard the Lieutenant and your maid discussing that the Capitán intends to keep you, give you special privileges. But – only you."

"What do you mean, 'only' me?"

Moss hesitated.

I brightened a little as an idea came to me. "Do you mean he'll let the others go?"

"No, Señorita," he looked at me pityingly. "They will be executed."

"What?" My mouth dropped open. "Why?"

"Because they're pirates," he turned away from me.

"But they aren't!"

Moss didn't answer; instead he started to look carefully over Magda's desk.

Annoyed at his avoidance, I persisted. "They're not pirates. They're just sailors!"

"How can you be sure?"

Moss picked up a penknife Magda had left behind; and I realised, as he pocketed it, that he was removing anything that could enable another escape attempt. I fought the sinking feeling the realisation gave me, but decided to pretend not to notice what he was doing as he continued his search.

"Some – some of them had British uniforms," I argued.

"Pirates often wear the clothes of their victims."

"But they didn't – they didn't act like pirates..." Not that I really knew what pirates acted like.

"How do you know, Señorita Athena," Moss said, while checking the desk drawers, "That they were British navy? How do you know the men on your ship weren't all Barbossa's men?"

"But does that make them all pirates?" I asked.

"Barbossa is a pirate. It stands to reason that the men on the Proserpine were pirates." Satisfied there was nothing left that I could use in the desk, Moss moved over to check the bunk beds.

"But what if they're not?" Moss didn't respond, but I thought I saw him frown, so I hastily added, "I mean, I suppose… I always thought pirates… well, don't pirates kind of look like pirates?"

"Ah, so you know what pirates look like?" Moss asked, as he ran a hand along the edge of the beds. "Forgive me, Señorita, but have you even seen a pirate before?"

"No – yes!" I thought briefly of Jack Sparrow. "I've seen a pirate."

"The Sparrow." Distaste flitted across Moss' face as he turned to me. "The Sparrow is a murderer. Just as all pirates are. Robbers, murderers and rapists."

"Now hang on, Sparrow said Capitán Salazar murdered him," I started to say, when I stopped, realising that that might not be the greatest topic to argue with him about. But Moss did not seem offended at all.

"Sí, our Capitán killed him," he said calmly. "Because Sparrow killed us."

" _He_  killed you?" No one had told me this before.

"And he cursed us."

"How did he do that?"

Moss gestured at himself. "This – how we look, our condition – is all because of Sparrow. He tricked us into following his ship, and that is how we entered the Devil's Triangle. It destroyed our ship, and killed us all – but instead of dying, we lived on. Cursed. Not dead, but not alive either. There are those, like that Scarfield, who think that pirates aren't that bad. They think it's alright, to side with pirates. They think pirates are the lesser of two evils."

Moss gave me a self-deprecating smile.

"And it's... an easy mistake to make. You look at us, and see a monster. You look at a pirate, and see a man." His smile faded, and he became serious. "But you've never seen what evil pirates are capable of. You've never come upon a ship after it was boarded by pirates. Perhaps if you did, you would see that we are merciful by comparison. Compared to them, we're even good."

I frowned. _Merciful_ and _good_ were not the first words to spring to mind in connection with the crew of the Silent Mary.

"How...?" I said slowly. "How can you actually believe that?"

Moss sat on Magda's bed, examining his cracked grey hands for a moment.

"A week before we died," he said quietly, "We were pursuing the last of the pirates across the seas. There was one ship I remember. A merchant ship, carrying passengers to Jamaica."

He lifted yellow eyes up to mine.

"It never made it. The stink of their corpses could be smelt for leagues, before we even reached them. Pirates had strung up half the men in the shrouds, and cut them – left them to bleed out for hours in the hot sun. Others they'd made sport of, using them for target practice with knives and bullets. We found a woman, floating face down in the sea near the ship. She was naked. They'd cut her hair, perhaps as a souvenir. It was a little like yours, coloured like a sunset. We did not have to guess what else they had done to her. And there was a child… but it was too late." Moss' eyes burned into mine. "All that cruelty, and for what? A trinket. A handful of coins. A jewel or two."

I listened, speechless; Moss' face became frightening as he continued.

"When we caught up to them, I found the one who carried the bracelet of a child on his belt. And braided around his wrist, a lock of hair the colour of a sunset."

His voice stayed steady, so at odds with the increasing horror I felt, knowing where his tale was heading and wishing I didn't.

"I brought him to the Capitán, and we saved him for last. Made him watch while we gelded him. Cut him. Used his legs and arms for target practice. And then Nico and Cris strung him up to bleed out to death. Not once did the Capitán look away. Even after we all returned to the Mary, our Capitán did not leave until the man died. And then he threw what was left of him into the sea. Carrion for the sharks to eat."

An involuntary shiver spasmed up my back. Moss' calm voice had chilled me to the bone.

"Do you understand now, Señorita, why we kill?" His eyes were softer as he asked; more earnest. "The Curse we have... even freed now from the Devil's Triangle, the Curse calls us to single out the truly guilty. Be assured, Señorita: every single ship who came into the Devil's Triangle after us, did not come because they were innocent souls who'd lost their way. They did not come because they were good or pure. They came because the Devil's Triangle called to them. _We_ were tricked into going in – it was too late for us to turn, our ship smashed into sharp rocks, our gunpowder exploded, and all of us... all of us died. Only, we did not stay dead. And our Curse is a heavy price. But every single ship after us went in because they _wanted_ to. They knew they shouldn't. They would've felt it in their souls. But they did it anyway."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPANISH TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> Ella va a quedar aquí – She will stay here


	15. The Clothes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Athena was speaking with Moss in the last chapter, Capitán Salazar has been having a mysterious and private conversation with Sparrow about his Curse... Salazar returns to Athena in this chapter, with a more developed agenda...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so sorry this took so long... but I made some amendments to the original draft that I hope pleases you all...

A knock at the door startled the silence that had fallen in the cabin after Moss had finished speaking. He was at the door so fast, it threw me off balance, and I spun to see him cracking it open to look through, his sword already out and pointed in my direction – a very clear _do not try anything_ command to me. After a lengthy exchange of Spanish, Moss stepped back from the door, but his sword stayed levelled at me, for as long as the door was open.

Officer Magda came in first. And I held my breath.

Because I hadn't realised until this moment, that most of Officer Magda's legs were invisible. Before, when I had first come into the cabin, he had been seated at his desk; and then, by the time he had stood, I had been too embarrassed to even _look_ at him properly. But I did now, and I could not _stop_ looking. They were just not there. A faint stream of ash outlined the edge of one knee, the inside of his hip. But he basically moved on invisible legs. It made me realise, for the first time, that this must have been how he had died. And it must have been gruesome.

Moss' story, about the way they'd died, and the injustice of their deaths in the Devil's Triangle, made their Curse seem even more terrible now.

Magda's legs had been obliterated, all the way to his hips. I couldn't help imagining how he must have have lain on the deck of the Mary, probably unable even to understand what had happened to the lower half of his body, before he died from the blood loss. I wanted to close my eyes against the awful details my mind unwillingly supplied, of small intestines and shredded stomach lining, falling out in bloody heaps as his shipmates died around him... I didn't want to imagine it.

"Something wrong, Señorita?" Magda's cool eyes landed on me.

I shook my head, trying not to stare anymore at his legs.

Magda's gaze then roved over to the desk, and the bed on his side of the cabin, as though expecting that in his absence I might have done something insidious to them.

Two deckhands entered the cabin next, one of them carrying a wooden tray with what looked like a loaf of bread and a cup on it, and one of them bearing a wooden chest. The deckhand with the tray placed it on the desk, and left silently, but the other one waited for instructions, hefting the chest easily in his grip with scary strength.

I recognised him. He was the deckhand from before, still wearing the same stocking cap. The one who had snarled at me. Only now, in the presence of Officer Magda, he was different: not even glancing at me once, respectful as he waited for his superior officer.

"The bed, Bracero," Magda instructed coolly. " _My_ bed, por favor. The lady will sleep on Officer Diego's bed."

I heard the disdain in his voice, but I was too puzzled by what was in the chest and why it had been brought here to really register it. Bracero placed the chest carefully on Magda's bed.

"Clothes, Señorita. For you." Moss explained when I snuck a confused glance at him. "From among the things we recovered from both ships."

"Oh." I looked down at my grubby shift under Moss' burnt coat, and hoped that the chest at least had something that covered me a little more in it. I offered a nervous acknowledgement to Bracero, as he turned away from the bed. "Um. Thank you."

He flicked yellow eyes at me, the same hostility from before burning in them; just a little more muted.

"Gracias, that will be all," Magda dismissed Bracero, who left obediently without even acknowledging Moss.

Not for the first time, I wondered about the hierarchy on the ship. It seemed that even though both were Officers, something about Magda seemed to inspire better behaviour. There had to be different ranks amongst the Officers that I didn't know about yet. Bracero certainly seemed to restrain himself far more in front of Magda, in a way he hadn't bothered to do with Moss when he was escorting me across the deck.

Not that I couldn't understand that.

Magda's finely-tuned disdain was enough to make anyone shut up and obey.

"Señorita," Magda bestowed a coldly smug smile on me, "I hope you will find something _appropriate_ for your station in the chest."

I really wanted to ask him what was in the chest: I sincerely hoped Lady Stanhope's dresses were _not_ \- but he was already nodding at Moss, before turning and stalking out of the cabin.

Once Magda was gone, Moss hesitated, before saying, "I will leave you to dress in private. Would you…" he faltered. "Would you like some water? I mean, to wash with?"

I looked down at myself again, and this time, I realised I desperately did need to wash off a lot of rust and grime, still flecked across my arms and hands.

"Yes please," I answered.

"I will be back, Señorita." He paused again, a small crease of worry showing on his brow. "You will be safe here. I will ask Nico to stand outside your door. No one will come in here except me, and I will knock when I return."

 

* * *

 

While Moss was gone, I was relieved to find that the cup contained only water, and drank it all in one go, ignoring the slightly stale taste. The bread was very dry and salty, so I left it, though I knew sooner or later hunger would drive me to eat it. I guessed I would just have to deal with the thirst until the next time they brought a tray.

Moss did not take long to return with a large basin, and a large pitcher full of water. He'd even been thoughtful enough to bring a square of clean cotton, to use as a washcloth. The water in the pitcher smelt fresh, and my eyes slid to the empty cup.

Seeing me looking at the water, Moss said, "No, Señorita – I will bring you more drinking water whenever you wish, but best use this water to wash with."

"Thank you," I said, and I meant it.

"I will wait outside for you, Señorita," he reassured me before leaving once more. "When you are finished, knock on your side of the door, and I will bring you more water to drink then."

 

* * *

 

After Moss closed the door behind him, I took his coat off, and spent a good while rubbing at my face with the wet cotton until I was sure the grime was all gone. I used the cloth to clean off my chest and arms as best I could, wincing at the amount of dirt that had been on me. There was even dried blood on my neck, from where Salazar had pricked my skin with his sword on the Proserpine. I had almost forgotten about it, it seemed ages ago. The water was distinctly murky by the time I was done, and I was shivering; but I felt a little better.

Opening the chest, I saw a jumble of things, tossed in carelessly without any attempt to be neat.

One by one, I laid the contents out on the bed: a wide leather belt, several odd stockings of a sickening shade of puce, a clean cotton shirt that looked like it had been made for a boy, a silver-handled brush, a bright green dress that was three sizes too big, a pair of boy's trousers, two differently sized pairs of ladies' slippers that looked almost the same shade as washed-up seaweed, and a pair of men's boots.

I could see at a glance that the only things that would fit Lady Stanhope's tiny figure in the entire ensemble, were the boy's shirt and trousers.

"Thank God," I breathed out.

I hurried to dress. It was cold in the cabin, and, puce or not, I was grateful for the extra layer the stockings would provide. I reasoned I wasn't going to have to see them once I was completely dressed anyway. Pulling on the trousers, I was curious to see it had no fly. Not even any buttons. That must be what the belt was for, I figured. I tucked the voluminous shirt into the trousers, before wrapping the belt around my waist to hold everything together.

Lastly, I held up the boots. They were heavy duty boots that would come up to my knees, and they were scuffed and worn; but they'd have to do. I pulled them on, and was pleased to find they actually fit. There were a series of buckles up either side of the boots to adjust them for the size of the wearer's legs, so I tightened them as far as they would go, before walking slowly about the cabin to test them.

They weren't perfect, but they were a lot more comfortable than being barefoot.

There was even a dark cloak, right at the bottom of the chest, and I had just slipped it on, tying the strings across the front to secure it, when there came a tap at the door.

"Señorita," Moss' voice called. "Are you - are you finished?"

I crossed to the door, still tying the cloak-strings.

"I'm good," I called through the door, fumbling with them.

"Capitán Salazar wants - "

I froze.

A soft murmuring interrupted him.

"... wishes... to speak with you. Por favor."

Almost immediately, my palms started to tingle and my face felt hot.

The knowledge that the Capitán was here, and so _soon_ , to 'speak with me', made me irrationally anxious. I couldn't even explain to myself why, but I was nervous to be alone with him. I knew I wasn't necessarily in any immediate danger, but I had no idea what mood he'd be in; and it wasn't until just now, with cold tension coursing through me, that I realised how much I'd allowed myself to relax because he hadn't been here.

I backed away from the door. I was so nervous trying to figure out which direction he would enter in, my eyes darting unsteadily between the door and the walls, that I nearly tripped and fell onto Santos' bed.

But Capitán Salazar didn't melt through the walls this time. Instead – almost politely – he entered in through the door.

The door shut behind him, leaving me alone again with the Capitán.

He stopped just inside, his stance tense, staring at me. The air in the cabin instantly began to thicken. His eyes swept over my change of clothes, before coming back to rest critically on my face. I held my breath, waiting to see what he would say about the fact that I was wearing boy's clothing.

"Your hair," he said. "Is awful."

I felt even smaller than when Officer Magda had sneered at me, hunching inside Moss' coat, trying to cover myself up.

"I - I haven't had time to brush it," I said apologetically.

"You should take better care of yourself, hmm?" He scolded gently.

I frowned. It wasn't like I didn't have an excuse. And why should my hair suddenly matter to him anyway?

"Well, I would look after myself, but you know, waking up in a body that's not mine and being forced aboard a ghost ship kind of breaks the routine," I told him a little snappishly.

He seemed amused.

"Come, sit." He gestured for me to sit at Magda's desk.

Feeling unsure, and not knowing exactly what he had come here for, I pulled the chair away from the desk instead, placing it to face him before I sat down.

He noted my wariness. "I am not here to hurt you, Athena."

He crossed over to Magda's bed, where the clothes and contents of the chest were still spread.

I strained to listen for the sounds of movement outside the cabin door as Salazar stood over the bed, examining what had been brought. I wondered if Moss had been told to leave, if the cabin was currently unguarded...

And then I nearly jerked back out of my seat when I felt the burning heat of his hand on my shoulder.

"Your cloak, Athena," he said softly. "Take your cloak off."

I sat still, confused by his request and slow to understand what he was wanting.

He placed a silver handled brush on the desk next to me, and then reached around to pull lightly at the cloak-strings resting across my collarbone. He seemed to deliberately brush his fingers against my throat as he pulled them, loosening the cloak. I hastily pulled the cloak away and off my shoulders, letting it fall around my waist as I leant away from his touch.

I heard him click his tongue behind me. "Pearls are nice… but not necessary for hair that is... tan vibrante, like yours."

And then I felt his fingers in my hair, lifting my locks, gently disentangling the string of pearls Eleni had worked in the day before.

I sat rigidly in my seat, not daring to protest his touch.

The heat every time his fingertips made contact with my scalp became surprisingly pleasant the more he did it, but his presence behind me was still unnerving. My neck prickled, my palms tingled worse than ever, and I could not let myself relax.

"I have been wondering, Athena…" he said softly, after a few minutes of working the pearls out of my hair, "What would make your time here comfortable?"

"Why does that matter?" I turned my head to the side, before adding hesitantly, quietly, "Aren't I still – your prisoner?"

"Sí, sí, sí," I heard a huff of amusement, before he made me turn my head gently to face forward again. "But... it has been brought to my attention that if I want –" he stopped, and drew in a pained breath. "That since you will be on the Mary for a very long time, I should make your stay with me as comfortable as possible."

My mind flew into overdrive. Why would he suddenly care about my 'comfort'?

Was it the fact that we'd shared a dream that was causing this difference?

But I knew it was more than that… I thought back to his abrupt changes of mood during our conversation about the future of Spain in his cabin, and how at the end, instead of being angry when I kept refusing to give him more answers, he'd stood and insisted I rest and sleep.

The change of cabin, the instructions to his men to afford me some privacy, the very fact that they'd brought me water, food and clothes… of course. It all made sense now.

He was using honey, instead of vinegar, to catch the fly.

"You just want me to tell you what I know about the future," I said dully. "But you don't need to bother with all this. It won't make any difference. I shouldn't – I can't tell you any more than I already have."

"I do…" Salazar struggled to keep his tone light, " _Covet_ , the knowledge you have of the future. However, I also know, that –" he paused, his fingers resting in my hair. "I must afford you a small measure of freedom. Which I am willing to do. In exchange for you meeting some conditions of mine."

He started to work again when I didn't answer, freeing my hair, pearl by pearl, from the intricate style it had been braided in.

But I understood what he was saying. I was still his prisoner. He was simply offering me an exchange. A _compensation_. If I told him what he wanted to know, he'd make my prison bearable. If not... I probably didn't want to find out what he'd do to make it unbearable.

Finally, he worked the last pearl out, and dropped the string of pearls onto the desk next to us.

"You are so quiet," he picked up the brush, "But there's no need to be afraid. Tell me. What do you want, Athena? What would make you comfortable?"

"Nothing," I answered. "I'm not telling you anything more about the future."

"Hmm," he said softly, as though I'd given him a different answer.

I wasn't ready to engage in another duel of words with him. I wasn't sure which mood of his I would face, if I kept refusing, but I felt I had no choice.

He began to run the brush through my hair, one lock at a time, working the ends first before brushing through from the top, gently removing the knots.

"What if you have no choice, Athena," he said quietly as he brushed. "You are so worried, that the future has changed, and that you won't be able to return. But what if you can never go back? What if there is no future? What if there is only the present, and nothing more."

I started to shake my head, started to say, "There has to be a way –" but he stopped me.

"Don't move, Athena," he tapped a finger against the back of my head. "These knots are tricky."

"There has to be a way to fix things," I finished, staring straight ahead.

"Perhaps there is," he agreed, "But it may not be the way you think."

I kept silent, turning over what he'd said in my mind.

Little by little, the constant strokes of the brush, and the pleasant feel of his fingers lifting my hair as he brushed, started to soothe me; and little by little, I couldn't help relaxing into the chair.

"Already, you feel it," He murmured. "It is not so bad, sí, to have things like this?"

I stiffened. "It's… thank you. But I really don't need this."

He made a noise of dismissal. "You think you can't miss what you've never had. But you _should_ have them."

"… a hairbrush." I couldn't help being a little dismissive myself. Did he really think the future could be so cheaply bought?

"A hairbrush, sí. Food, drink, clothes. And someone who cares for you."

I started to shift uncomfortably, when he set down the brush on the desk. He began to run his fingers through my hair. He was fanning it out across my back, admiring the colour.

"Do many women have this colour in your time?" He asked.

"Some do," I hunched my shoulders up under his attention.

"So unusual," he breathed. "Rubia, but here and there, strands of red and castaño…"

The sensation of his hands, gently stroking through my hair, made a tingling start in my belly, and a shiver ripple down my back. His fingers stopped moving.

"Are you cold, Athena?"

I shook my head mutely.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm – I'm fine," I said quickly, sitting up straighter again, willing myself to stop reacting to his touch.

"Hmmm," the stroking resumed. "Your hair reminds me of a story my mother used to tell. There was a woman who lived in the woods near our home, hundreds of years ago. Her hair was red and gold, and she never spoke, but she would walk amongst the trees, weeping for the one she lost. If you were ever lucky enough to see her, you could find her tears, like finely cut diamonds, between the leaves on the ground… each one worth a small fortune, they were so fine."

He kept stroking through as he spoke, his low, pleasant voice making another shiver tingle across my shoulder blades and down my spine.

"That's a strange story," I said.

"It's the only kind of story my mother knew." His touch became even gentler, fingers lightly brushing down my back.

Lulled by his gentleness, I confessed, "I used to hate my hair. I was teased because of the colour. So I used to dye it black."

I felt rather than saw him grow still behind me.

"You would change the colour?" He asked. "You should _never_ change the colour."

"Do you really –" I couldn't help my curiosity, "See my real hair?"

"I do," he teased a lock between his finger and thumb. "It is hard to miss."

"Because I don't," I confessed. "When I look at myself – I just see Lady Stanhope's body. I just see her hair."

I looked down at my hands – no, _her_ hands – fisting over the folds of the cloak bunched around my waist. There had already been moments where I forgot whose body I was in. A sign I was becoming too comfortable. And I didn't like it.

"That is a pity." He agreed, running his fingers through the locks of hair one more time, apparently enjoying the feel.

"Thank you," I said awkwardly. "You didn't have to brush my hair, but – thank you."

"Athena," he leant forward, his mouth almost touching my ear, "You could have many things here to make you comfortable aboard my ship."

I took a deep breath.

"I told you," I turned my head, met his intense gaze fully, "I don't need –"

His hand tugged gently on a lock of hair at the back of my head.

" _Any_ comforts you choose. And all I wish for, in exchange, is your willingness," he wound the lock around his fingers.

The feel of him twisting my hair made me swallow, and another shiver touched the side of my face closest to his hand.

"My willingness," I did my best to keep looking him in his amber eyes. "And how will that work? Do I have to pay you for every meal? A piece of knowledge for every day I live?" I raked in another breath, he was so close to me, and it was starting to make me feel light-headed, being this close to him for so long. "What happens when I run out of things to tell you?"

He tilted his head.

"It is – not just your knowledge that I want, Athena," he shifted the lock of hair to fall over my shoulder, fingertips trailing down my cotton shirt as he did.

"What else?" I stared at him. "What else do you want from me?"

His eyes blazed for a moment, and then suddenly, to my complete bewilderment, he stood and paced away to the other side of the cabin, his back to me.

"I just want to _know_ ," I could see his hand clenching in frustration over the handle of his sword, "What it will take for you to – to give me what I need."

"Capitán Salazar –" I started to stand, alarmed at the change in his mood. "I'm sorry –"

He whirled to face me, fury and desperation in his expression.

"Dios mío, but if I were a man again, I would know how to make you _beg_!" he closed his eyes, slowly shaking his head as if to savour the thought, "I would break you into pieces from the pleasure I would give you, until it was _you_ pleading with _me_ to give you what you need –" he opened his eyes abruptly. "And then I could be done with this ridiculous charade!"

I was completely stunned. We weren't even touching, but the heat of his words burned me where I stood.

"Charade…" I repeated.

He looked away.

"Lo siento," he muttered. "But I cannot stand this."

For a moment, I felt stupid. I had fallen – a little – with the gentleness he'd showed me. With the care he'd showed me. I'd let my guard down; and, for the briefest of moments, I had thought he might be genuinely trying to care.

But it had all been an act. A _charade_.

Of course he didn't actually care. It had all been a lie. He simply wanted something from me. Why was I even surprised? No one could be trusted, a lesson that I should be familiar with by now. Though it never really stopped hurting each time I had it. I was alone. I would always be alone.

The cold facts crashed down on me hard in that moment.

I took a steadying breath in, crushing the hurt so I could think clearly about the situation.

So maybe Capitán Salazar was right. Maybe there was no future anymore. Whatever magic had drawn me here, it had _already_ changed things the moment I woke up in Lady Stanhope's body. For all I knew, Lady Stanhope had been destined to die, until magical crap happened and dragged me into her body. Maybe her soul was in heaven, or getting reincarnated into another baby as I stood here in her old body, staring at an undead Capitán on a Spanish ghost ship. Maybe this _was_ all I had. The Present.

I pulled my eyes away from him, and studied the floorboards. I knew what I wanted to say. But I had to find the right words to say it. Looking at him really didn't help me think sometimes, so I let myself get my thoughts together first.

"So," I began calmly. "You want to know what I would exchange for more knowledge about the future. What would make me comfortable."

Salazar stared at me, confused.

"Well, I would feel 'comfortable'," I went on, "If I knew all the other prisoners were safe."

"… they are safe," he tilted his head slowly, trying to figure me out.

I shook my head. "You're going to execute them."

"And who," he scowled, "Told you that?"

I didn't want to get Moss in trouble so I quickly covered.

"I heard your men speaking," I lied. "They said you're going to execute them all as pirates."

There was silence between us.

"Sí," he finally shrugged. "I am."

I paused. "Do you have to?"

He didn't answer immediately. "I could… re-consider... their execution."

Another pause.

"But that depends on you, Athena. Is this the price you're asking of me?"

"Yes," I said firmly.

"Sí," he suddenly smiled. It made me uneasy. "I will agree. But first," his eyes flickered between red and amber, as his expression became serious, "You will not attempt to escape again. You will never set foot off of the Silent Mary."

"That will cost lives." I quickly did the maths. "Three lives. I won't try and escape, but you have to let three prisoners go."

His smile widened.

"Sí. Three." He leant back, more relaxed now than when he'd first entered the cabin. "And for you to always tell me the truth? How many lives?"

"Ten." I swallowed, waiting for his response. I had counted at least ten last night, when Salazar had threatened Scarfield in front of me. I hoped I wasn't missing anyone.

"Ten…" he looked thoughtful. "You must always tell me the truth then, Athena. No lies. Or else I will start to take those ten lives back. One by one."

I knew what he meant.

"Done." I nodded.

"So, who told you that the prisoners were being executed?" he asked slyly.

"You release ten prisoners first –"

"No. You tell me the truth first."

We glared at eachother, at a standstill.

"It was one of your Officers," I finally gritted out.

"I know it was, I want to hear you say it," he growled at my persistent hesitation. "I have to know you will keep your side of the bargain, Athena. I have been fooled enough times in the last three weeks, no more!"

"Fine. It was Officer Moss."

He stalked towards me. "I would be an idiot if I did not guess. Officer Moss does not keep a sharp rein on his tongue."

I started to back away defensively. "It's not like you needed me to tell you who –"

"It's exhausting," he interrupted, backing me up against Santos' bed. "Trying to trust you, when you won't tell me what I ask, and I have to rake through your words, trying to decipher what you are leaving out!"

"And it's exhausting to always fear who you're going to threaten next!" I snapped, losing my temper. "To have to argue with you every time you feel like killing someone!"

His arm whipped out, faster than I could follow, and he crushed me against his chest, and I felt this was it, it was just as he had held me on the Proserpine, and he was going to kill me…

But he was not holding his sword this time.

He cupped my face with his other hand, his thumb burning a trail over my bottom lip.

"I will release _three_. Today." He said quietly. "And you will prove to me that you can be trusted, by not attempting to escape. And then, when I am convinced that you can keep your word, I will release ten more, in exchange for everything you know about the future. I _will_ hear the truth from your lips."

His thumb pressed down on my lip, hard.

"But you will never lie to me, Athena. Starting now." His face was fierce as he said it. "You will _never_ lie, or I will know. And I will make you watch me take one life for every lie you tell."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPANISH TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> tan vibrante - so vibrant
> 
> Rubia - Blonde
> 
> Castaño - Auburn (Chestnut/Red)


	16. The Phobia

_His thumb pressed down on my lip, hard._

_"But you will never lie to me, Athena. Starting now." His face was fierce as he said it. "You will_ _never_ _lie, or I will know. And I will make you watch me take one life for every lie you tell."_

 

* * *

 

He was too close, far too close.

I suddenly struggled to draw in a breath.

He was crushing my hands between his chest and mine, and the sensation wasn't the same pleasant warmth I'd experienced when he'd stroked his fingers through my hair. The heat of him was as scalding as the very first time we'd touched.

I swallowed, and my dry lips caught on the pad of his thumb.

The overwhelming ferocity, the swift and possessive grasp, the burning touch – it had all started a chain reaction of physical panic that was sending my body and brain into lockdown. My heart had started beating frantically, my chest was tight, my mouth was dry and I could not _think_. It was worse than it had been with Scarfield. His admiration had been mildly discomforting by comparison.

Salazar was _drowning_ me.

I wanted to step back, I wanted to get away, but there was nowhere left for me to move to. He'd wedged one of his legs between mine, while still holding my head in his hand, and I was barely able to balance on my feet. If it weren't for his other hand, pressing between my shoulder blades, I would've fallen backwards onto Santos' bed.

He growled at me in frustration.

"I want to hear you!" He scraped his thumb over my bottom lip and down to my jaw, "Tell me that you will never lie to me!"

"I won't lie," I gasped out, my breath coming in short bursts. "I promise – I won't – lie to you!"

And still, he did not move back, or release me.

I was starting to feel light-headed. I closed my eyes. The sharp-edged iron medals he wore pricked beneath my palms, and I knew if I didn't do something soon, I was probably going to faint. I couldn't _stand_ the thought of fainting, but I hadn't had this much intense physical contact in months – and no one in my whole entire life had ever stood so close to me, or touched me so much, as Capitán Salazar. I knew the moment was volatile; but I had to try and make it stop.

So, slowly, carefully, as if he were a wild creature easily startled into aggression, making sure I didn't look him directly in the eye, I moved one of my hands – down under the arm that was holding my head, and gently rested it on the outside of his wrist.

"I _won't_ lie to you," I reassured him in a whisper. "I promise."

He didn't move.

His hand grew harder on my jaw, as though unwilling to stop touching me.

"Please –" I risked the eye contact, swallowing again at how close his face was to mine, how bright his eyes were. "Please – give me some space."

"Ojalá pudiera..." I felt his cool breath on my face, as he murmured to himself in Spanish, "Pero eres más cerca de mí que nunca…"

I did not understand a word he'd spoken, but I felt his hold on me gradually relax, and his face seemed to clear, almost as though he'd realised something, or come to terms with something.

Eventually, he let the weight of my hand pull his own hand down, away from my face. He nodded to himself, before completely easing back, allowing me to steady myself on my own two feet. I was so relieved that he'd let me go, that I let myself sink down onto the edge of the bed, glad when the light-headedness started to clear. He stood in front of me, studying me in silence, before he spoke again.

"Entonces," he started, before pausing and changing to English, "The prisoners. You will wish to see them released yourself, no?"

I glanced up at him.

" _Three_ prisoners," I reminded him, my voice still a little unsteady.

"Sí, three prisoners," he agreed.

"How will you release them?" I tried to sound business-like this time, to will myself to move past the near-faint I'd narrowly missed experiencing.

"There are plenty of smallboats available between the Proserpine and the Queen Anne," he was still watching me, speaking slowly, thoughtfully. "The released prisoners can take one and row to St Martin." He furrowed his eyebrows, glancing towards the cabin door and then back to me. "I will have my men prepare one."

I breathed out in relief. I hadn't been sure that _he_ was actually going to stay true to his side of the agreement, but his words reassured me that he would.

"So…" I said carefully, "Who will you release?"

I knew who I hoped he'd say, but I didn't want to make any suggestions just in case. It was enough for now that he'd promised to release all of them, but to tell him which ones first – I had a feeling it would just get his back up. But he saw right through my careful words, as usual.

"Still, Athena?" His lips stretched in a humourless smile, " _Still_ thinking of your precious Lieutenant."

I thought of denying it, but the sharp way his fiery eyes were fixed on me, I knew I couldn't risk it.

"Lieutenant Scarfield is injured," I said instead.

"I have been informed that the French woman healed him," he said dismissively. "He will recover."

"But he – the wound started to bleed again…"

"Sí, because he was stupid and tried to escape!"

"Only because I made him come with me!"

Salazar was incredulous. "You made him? No, no, no, Athena. A man like that, knew exactly what he was doing, when he let you do all the hard work."

"What?" I was startled at his words. "That's not how it was –"

"He is a fool, but he used you, he let you risk your life instead of keeping you safe."

" _I_ risked my life!" I was starting to get annoyed. "If you hate him so much, just let him go first, so he can get proper treatment on St Martin –"

"Que ese hijo de perra mato a uno de los nuestros!" Salazar snarled, "He killed one of our own!"

"Capitán Salazar!" My voice was loud in the cabin. "If you don't let him get help, he might –"

"Die?" Salazar sneered. "And would you weep for him, if he did?"

He was so bitter, his words so harsh and angry, that I realised if I didn't stop and try to calm him down, there'd be another repeat of him losing his temper and grabbing me again.

I turned my head away from him, trying to reassemble my thoughts, and stifle my own feelings, before I spoke again.

"I'm – sorry." I clasped my hands together between my knees, squeezing them hard as I tried to keep my voice down, "I'm sorry for what happened. I'm sorry for the cost to you and your men – "

"Cost?" His eyes flared red. He stepped forward again, letting his knees touch mine. "What do you know about my cost?"

I bit my tongue and looked down. "Nothing."

"Athena, look at me." His voice was strained with the effort, I could hear his harsh breath; and I knew he was trying to keep himself under control just as much as I was. "Look at me, and tell me why do you apologise for him?"

I couldn't bring myself to look. "Because I saw how it – how your men were – I'm just sorry –"

Without warning, he reached out and touched my chin, forcing my head up. "Stop. Apologising."

The movement was so surprising, so quickly done, and his voice so intimate, it threw me completely.

His fingers stayed under my chin, and the palm of his hand was so close, that it made me fear I would begin to lose whatever tenuous hold I had on myself, and my panic would start to rise once more.

"Shhh, shhh, shhh." Suddenly, Capitán Salazar was kneeling. He was kneeling in front of me, taking my clasped hands between both of his, saying, "No need to be frightened."

The sensation of his touch was... warm. It was definitely warmer this time, instead of scalding hot, and in the back of my mind I wondered what it was that made the difference, whether it was me, or him, or both of us, that the heat our physical contact always seemed to produce managed to vary so much...

"It's not so bad," he ran his thumb over the back of my hand.

And, strangely, it wasn't.

I looked away from him, mumbling, "I know. I'm fine."

"You are not used to this yet, Athena," he nodded at where our hands touched. "But in time, you can be."

"Thank you, Capitán," I tried to pull my hands out from his, but he was not ready to release me.

"You just need – practice." He stroked his fingers over the back of my hands soothingly. "Little touches. So that you know that this – being touched by someone else –" he traced a slow circle over my skin, "Is not a bad thing."

I swallowed and nodded. I had read once that anxieties like mine could be managed, that small amounts of exposure to whatever a person was scared of might help control the fears. At the time I thought it would make it worse, but here and now, I began to see how it might work.

"Though, I must tell you," he frowned. "That it puzzles me…"

"What does?"

"You are so brave, Athena, when it comes to others. I see this. You stand and face me and try to reason with me to save their lives, even when you are afraid. But when it comes to – this." He squeezed my hands almost affectionately, and I couldn't help the tight panic ripple through me at it. "The moment I touch you, you become a – trembling dove. I want you to tell me why."

"I don't know. I try to control it," I whispered. "It's just – it's –"

He studied me closely, and his frown became a scowl.

"It's that idiota you told me about, isn't it? He hurt you, and now you are afraid to trust anymore. You have made yourself to be afraid by touch, instead of pleased by it."

"It's not just the touch," I said. "It's – it's anything to do with –"

He waited, curious.

"With – feelings," I finished lamely.

"Is this –" he tapped his finger on mine, "Still making you uncomfortable?"

"A little." I admitted.

He raised an eyebrow. "A little? Is that the truth –"

"I mean, yes, I am uncomfortable." I hurriedly clarified.

He studied me in silence again for another minute.

"I want you to try something for me, Athena," his voice was gentle, "Distract yourself. I will leave my hand here… and if you become too overwhelmed, you can move. But for now, try... try speaking about something else."

"What – should I talk about?"

He thought for a second, and then said, "Tell me what Officer Moss told you before."

I took a deep breath.

"Well. Moss told me about how – how you came to be Cursed…" I stopped, realising that once again I'd started talking about something that might not be the best thing to talk about with him.

Salazar tilted his head at me. "He told you how we died…?"

"He said it was Sparrow who – who tricked you." I took another deep breath, as he waited, his expression surprisingly patient. "And I get it…"

Salazar frowned at the phrase.

"I mean, I understand your reasons for – for being so angry," I explained, "A bit better than I did before. I understand why you want to kill Scarfield."

He dropped his gaze down to where our hands were still touching. "I don't think you understand _all_ my reasons for wanting that man dead."

To my surprise, I didn't even flinch when he squeezed my hands again.

"Sometimes, I think… I am beginning to hate him almost as much as I hated Sparrow," he said quietly.

"Moss said that you see the guilt in a person…" I remembered. "He said the Curse lets you see all the bad things in them. But can you –" Salazar was leaning closer to me again, it made me nervous, "Can you really see the bad things someone's done? Is that really true?"

"Sí," his lips parted, as he carefully chose his next words. "But it's not always as specific as you think. The Curse simply pulls us towards the guilty. Wherever they are on the Seas, we can feel them. When we get closer, it's like we can _smell_ it - their guilt is like blood in the water."

I found myself tilting my head back at him in wonder. "What do you see in me?"

He chuckled. "Only an innocent would ask that."

I made a face.

"I'm hardly an innocent," I muttered.

"Perhaps," he shrugged, but I didn't miss the way he suppressed a smile, "But if you _were_ a bad person, you would be too afraid to ask what I see when I look at you." He narrowed his eyes at me. "When you first saw me, why weren't you afraid?"

"I – I'm not sure."

"Every man on that deck could not look at me. They were shaking in terror, like little boys, ready to piss themselves from fear," he snorted in scorn, "Because of _me_. And then there was you. Staring… directly at me. You should've been too afraid to even look at me! The Curse should've made you afraid…"

For a long moment, he gazed at me in silence.

I blinked, unsure why he was staring at me, and cleared my throat a little, feeling uncomfortable. "Well… I don't know. Honestly, I have no idea."

Maybe too much TV, I guessed. Too much time spent watching horror movies, too much exposure to the gory violence that permeated even kids' shows. I _had_ been afraid.

But I'd also been fascinated.

Because even now, when I looked at his floating hair, his cracked face, his fiery eyes, all I felt was just the same fascination I had when I first saw him – but now, with more understanding. After what he'd told me about his grandfather, after the dream we'd shared, after learning how he'd died, and knowing that all he wanted was to break his curse and return to his home country…

"When I said I was sorry before," I said quietly, "For what it cost you, I meant that I understand why it's not easy for you. Moss told me that anyone who joins sides with a pirate deserves to die. And, he only told me a little, but even the little he told me… well. I get why you'd – why you'd want to kill Scarfield."

He shook his head. "You say this. And yet, you still want to save his life."

"I just don't want anyone to die." I corrected gently. "But, look at it this way. If you release Lieutenant Scarfield it's – a show of… of honour. Of good will. Those ships at St Martin might be getting ready to attack us. If you sent him, with a message that there's other humans onboard, then they might delay their attack."

"You are too naive, Athena," he disagreed. "They won't delay an attack, and they won't let us leave without following us. Trust me, they want us gone off the face of the earth."

"But sending Scarfield might at least buy us some more time," I argued. "Which means more people don't have to die!"

"Ah, Athena," his hair swayed as he shook his head again, "If only the world cared as much as you do."

"You did agree to release prisoners," I said quietly.

"Sí, I did." He squeezed my hands again, before the corners of his mouth began to turn up in sly amusement. "But now I am thinking, I should have asked for more from you before I agreed to anything…"

"You can't change your mind now!" I snapped. "You said you'd release three –"

"I did not agree to which three, Athena –"

"And I didn't say which three either –"

"I will release whoever I want," he began to pull my hands close to his chest, forcing me to lean towards him. "But perhaps, I should have added more conditions, since you are so eager to save your Lieutenant Scarfield…"

The threat of being drawn so close to Capitán Salazar again alarmed me, and with a surge of panic-fuelled strength I yanked my hands out from between his.

"No," I said. "You go back on your word, and I'll go back on mine!"

"Very well. Vamos," he stood at once, taking one of my hands and pulling me to my feet with him. "It is time for us both to keep our word."

He released my hands, before turning and picking up my cloak, motioning me to come and take it. I tentatively stepped forward, but before I could take it from him, he stepped behind me, and placed it over my shoulders, smoothing it over my arms with his hands.

"For you, Athena," he stepped back in front of me, "I will release Lieutenant Scarfield first."

"And –" I thought of Barbossa, "The others?"

" _I_ will decide," he growled, warning me not to ask again.

He began tying the strings of the cloak together, his fingertips brushing against my skin as he did.

When he was finished, he pulled the hood of my cloak up over my hair. It was such a strange thing to do, and I wondered why he felt the need to cover up my hair from other people seeing it, since it was only his men and Eleni who could see my real hair, but he did not choose to explain himself.

He stepped back to survey me critically before saying, "Let us go. You may say goodbye to the Lieutenant, when it is time. But that is all."

 

* * *

 

Outside, the sun had risen, and shone brightly on my face.

I held a hand up to shield my eyes from the light, at the same time that I heard a loud gasp.

Squinting under my hand in the direction of the sound, I saw that Officer Moss and Officer Cortez had both been standing nearby, guarding my cabin – and had now both turned to stare at me. And stare at my clothes.

Behind me, Capitán Salazar closed the door.

"¡Madre mía!" Moss muttered, looking scandalised.

Cortez whistled appreciatively. "Luce bien…"

At once, Salazar gave both Officers a sharp command in Spanish, and they immediately stood to attention, lowering their eyes.

"Come, Señorita," Salazar placed a hand on my back and walked me forward, up the deck.

I tried not to squirm at the feeling of his hand. I couldn't help worrying that his men were going to stare more than ever at his touching me. I didn't know a lot about the etiquette towards women in the 1700s, but I was certain that Spanish Capitáns did not put their hands on a young lady's back on the deck of their ship, but I was not about to say anything to him about it.

Moss and Cortez fell into step behind us.

In spite of my worries, I couldn't miss the difference walking next to Salazar produced as we walked along the main deck. Not one member of the crew dared look with any kind of hostility at me, and all of them respectfully greeted their Capitán as he passed, before eagerly going back to work.

There were a huge number of items being organised on the deck of the Mary. Things they had taken from the Proserpine and the Queen Anne. Several crew members were showing a lot of interest in the pistols and rifles that had been laid out on deck; one of them was examining the barrel of one, while the other seemed to be checking what looked like a short keg of gunpowder.

Surveying the entire operation was Lieutenant Lesaro, and as we approached I saw Officer Magda in conversation with him, the inventory list he had been writing being discussed between them.

Lesaro saw his Capitán, and both of them stopped speaking to bow in greeting.

"Capitán Salazar," Lesaro's glance over me stuttered and froze as he took in what I was wearing.

Next to Lesaro, Magda seemed unable to stop a grin at my boy's clothing, his lips twisting in spiteful mirth.

"Something amuses you, Magda?" Salazar said coolly.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Moss shifting sideways from behind us, to send Magda an unmistakable glare.

Magda snapped an impassive mask firmly back into place. "No, Capitán."

"Bien." Salazar bent towards him. "Because if I thought you had brought the Señorita the selection you did with any other reason other than thoughtfulness, to provide her with comfortable clothing, I would be – very angry."

"Sí, Capitán, it was – only to make the Senorita comfortable." Magda said tonelessly.

I couldn't help raising an eyebrow at this obvious lie, but for some reason Salazar didn't seem to care enough to make it an issue. I was nearly about to say something, tempted to be just a little bit smart back to Magda, when Salazar spoke first.

"The Señorita is grateful," he said smoothly.

I stared at him. It was so weird, this insistence that all these men had, that even Scarfield had, to put words in my mouth. It was absurd.

It had to be a sexist 1700s thing. Or maybe it was just a thing that men who spent too long on sailing ships did. But it was simply and utterly bizarre to me. That all these men had to constantly speak for a woman out in public, as if we'd left our brains indoors. It made me feel like I might as well not be there, and in that moment I decided that no, I _was_ here, and so I was going to speak. Even if it was just a few words.

"Gracias, Officer Magda," I said.

I felt the stares of multiple pairs of eyes rest on me, and an unnerving quiet in the vicinity. I locked eyes however with Magda, who was looking blanker than ever, swallowed, and pushed on.

"The clothes fit very well." I thought briefly of the hideous bright green dress, and the seaweed-coloured shoes that had been in the chest, and the way Magda had been so smug when he'd brought it, and added, "You were right. I did find something more – _appropriate_. And I especially like my boots. So thank you."

"Sí, Señorita…" Magda said in a flinty voice. "It was – a pleasure."

He looked as if it had been anything but.

Salazar's hand on my back shifted, and he tapped a finger against my spine once. A warning? A threat? I couldn't tell, and he was speaking again before I could work it out.

"Lieutenant," Salazar was brisk, "Sparrow said there would be a Compass. A special Compass. Did you discover any?"

"We did, Capitán," Lesaro ran his finger down the list Magda had made. "We found four."

"Bring them all to my cabin," Salazar commanded. "Sparrow will tell us which one it is."

I listened to this exchange, and wondered what the Compass really was, that had him so interested. Sparrow had obviously told him about it, in the private conversation they'd had after Moss escorted me away, and I was now very curious to know what else had been said between them.

In less than twenty-four hours, I'd learned of the existence of magic spells, and cursed Spanish ghosts, and witches, and swords that belonged to gods. So whatever it was that made this Compass 'special' was likely to be yet another weird magical thing that would put a crazy spin on my worldview.

"And –" Salazar paused, and heaved in a pained breath, "Also bring that British Lieutenant to me, along with two others."

"Any two other prisoners in particular, Capitán?" Lesaro enquired.

"Any you choose, just bring them to the quarterdeck, and prepare a smallboat to go to St Martin," Salazar started to turn away, before adding, "And bring the French maid also."

"Eleni?" I saw Lesaro raise a worried brow.

"Sí," Salazar cast a brief look at me. "The maid should follow through on at least _one_ of her offers."

"Sí, Capitán," Lesaro gave a short bow.

As we left the main deck to go up to the quarterdeck, I glanced behind, and saw Lieutenant Lesaro's expression again, as he straightened, a deep frown on his face.

"Come," Salazar pulled me up to the top step. "We will wait for your Lieutenant, and you may watch his departure from here."

He made me stand next to him by the railing, and shot me a humourless smile. "I am curious to see who will be less pleased that he is departing – your fiancé, or your maid."  
  
  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPANISH TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> Ojalá pudiera... – I wish I could
> 
> Pero eres más cerca de mí que nunca – But you are closer to me than ever
> 
> Que ese hijo de perra mato a uno de los nuestros – That son of a bitch killed one of our own!
> 
> ¡Madre mía! – An exclamation of surprise. Literal translation, 'My mother'.
> 
> Luce bien… – (She) Looks good…
> 
>  
> 
> AUTHOR'S NOTES:
> 
> Haphephobia: Fear of Touch  
> (also known as Aphenphosmphobia: Fear of Intimacy)
> 
> The symptoms vary in severity depending on the level of fear. Some people with this phobia are:
> 
> • Able to tolerate touch that they initiate or give express permission for the other person to initiate
> 
> and/or
> 
> • Able to, over a long period of time, build enough trust to overcome their reactions with one or two specific people
> 
> Athena’s phobia about touching is actually specifically tied up in her psychological fear of intimacy. She becomes more afraid depending on the kind of feelings she perceives from the toucher and/or the context and circumstances surrounding her being touched. An unemotional touch, by a person not explicitly threatening her with intimacy/affection/desire, will not trigger her phobia. A touch in a highly charged, explicitly emotional situation, from a highly expressive person, will send her phobia into overdrive.
> 
>  
> 
> I have quite a few more notes on various other aspects of this chapter, but because they were starting to become very long, I decided for the sake of brevity just to stop here, with the additional Spanish Translations (See Above).
> 
> If you're interested in knowing more/have questions about Athena's phobia, or any other aspects of this chapter/other parts of the story, please PM me or just ask in the comments!


	17. The Release

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scarfield won't accept freedom easily, and Salazar's changeable attitude worries Athena...

We had been waiting forever it seemed.

I hoped Lieutenant Scarfield wasn't in trouble. Or causing trouble.

Lieutenant Lesaro had disappeared below with Magda to fetch him and two other prisoners; and though the sun had barely moved its position in the sky, it felt like it was taking them hours.

Capitán Salazar had drawn his sword in one hand, letting it rest on the railing in front of him – a clear warning for the prisoners once they came up from below decks – and had a firm grip on my wrist with the other.

Eleni had also been brought out to the quarterdeck as per Salazar's orders. I saw her being escorted from the cabin next to the Capitán's, and guessed that she'd been under Lieutenant Lesaro's watch since I'd last seen her. She was now standing between Officer Moss and Officer Cortez, a few feet behind us. She looked pale and exhausted, and did not offer up a single complaint even though we seemed to have been waiting forever.

Below us, the deck had been almost completely cleared of everything they'd taken from the Proserpine and the Queen Anne: all that was left were the guns.

Santos had brought up a small box to show Capitán Salazar. Inside, it contained every single compass they'd found on both the Queen Anne and the Proserpine, as requested, and Salazar had directed him to close the lid and put it inside his cabin for later.

"Tell the men on deck to be prepared," Salazar ordered Santos once he came back from his cabin. "The prisoners will be escorted from La María, but – it may be too much to hope they will go quietly."

I hoped for Scarfield's sake that he would have the sense to leave without making a fuss – but I'd already had the same thought. It might be too much to ask for Scarfield to take the chance being offered to him, and leave me behind without causing a scene.

As Santos nodded and moved away, Salazar addressed Cortez over his shoulder. "Go below decks, find out what is keeping them!"

"And – the maid?" Cortez asked quietly. "Lieutenant Lesaro said not to underestimate her…"

Salazar glanced back at Eleni, who was staring straight ahead mutely. "Do you expect her to be troublesome?"

Cortez hesitated, exchanging an unreadable look with Moss, before quickly shaking his head. "No, Capitán."

"Antonio will be fine by himself, Nico," Salazar waved his hand in dismissal. "Go see what the problem is."

Cortez left.

As the minutes continued to crawl by, I tried to distract myself. But it was proving difficult: the familiar burn of the Capitán's fingers pressing into the skin of my wrist, the proximity of his body next to mine, made it hard to concentrate. I tried watching Officer Santos on the deck below instead, counting the number of times he gave specific directions to Bracero and the others, counting how many crates were there, counting the number of pistols they placed in each…

The heat from the Capitán's touch was starting to make me uncomfortable again, but I had to remain calm. The last thing I wanted was to risk provoking him right before Scarfield was about to be brought up.

The last of the smaller pistols were carefully laid in crates, and then carried down by the deckhands through the open hatch, to be stored below. Officer Santos remained on deck, in quiet conversation with Bracero.

I subtly tried shifting my feet a little further away, thinking that if I couldn't pull my wrist away without a fight, I could at least allow more space between Capitán Salazar's shoulder and mine. I glanced at him nervously, but his gaze was fixed on the open hatch. He didn't seem to have noticed that I was trying to shift away. I stared straight ahead along the length of the Mary, trying to look bored in case he happened to feel my movements. I took in a deep, even breath, pushing through the irrational urge to simply yank my wrist away; and instead shifted my feet a little further to the side. The sound of my boots was too loud in my ears, the traitorous cloak shifted too much, the way my shirt rustled was too obvious, and I started to worry that he was going to look over at me, that he was going to _see_ –

Salazar suddenly scraped his thumb down under my wrist, to rest on the inside of my palm.

I froze.

The panic that had overwhelmed me in the cabin, when he had held me against himself, came back in a sudden, intense rush. And it was not going away. I could not get it out of my mind: the way he'd looked at me, when he'd cupped my face in his hand...

That look breached the thick walls of self-control I'd built, and the pressure of his touch and the heat of his skin and the uncertainty I now felt over whether he already knew I'd been trying to shift away threatened to completely destroy the emotional blockade I'd had in place to protect myself.

I felt my muscles tensing, bringing my shoulders closer to my ears, and I knew my jaw was tight with tension. He could feel my panicking heartbeat, I knew he could, he was _enjoying_ this, torturing me, and I couldn't do anything but picture tearing my hand away, flinging myself into the sea, anything just so _he would get his hands off of me._

"Nervous, Athena?" He didn't even move his head to speak. "Or are you just worried about your precious Lieutenant Scarfield?"

His tone was polite, with only a hint of amusement; but he sounded as if he were inquiring about the weather, and it made my panic worse than ever. Why couldn't he let go of my wrist?

I dropped my eyes from the broken mast to rest on the algae-encrusted rail in front of me.

"Capitán… do you have to touch me?"

It felt so pathetic, having to ask like that. I hated it. I saw the smirk that pulled for a second at the corner of his mouth, and knew he was going to try and provoke me into a reaction.

"Sí, I do," he said, and moved his thumb in a slow arc over my hand.

Heat flushed down my face at the sensation.

I wanted it to stop.

I imagined jerking my arm out of his grip and shoving him back. If I'd been in my real body, I know I would have been strong enough to hit him – at least hit him hard enough to loosen his grip on me. I allowed myself a wild flight of fancy that involved snatching the sword out of his hand, threatening him until the entire crew released all of us, and then rowing away triumphantly with all the prisoners to St Martin…

His thumb pressed harder into my palm.

My mental escape dissolved, panic beat against the walls; the foundations were cracking; I needed to try something else to distract myself.

"I gave you my word that I'm not going to escape," I started to count the number of nicks and grooves in the rail in front of me. "So there's no need."

"It's not about escape, Athena." I could feel the intensity of his look, like a flame on my face. "I trust you won't try. It is about making a point."

I had no answer, because in the back of mind escape _did_ scratch to be let in, but I had given my word I would not. Indulging thoughts about it weren't going to help. So I kept silently counting as he stroked his thumb over my palm again, insanely glad there were so many dents in the rotted rail to keep me occupied.

"Do you know what that point is, Athena?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him shift closer, and counted the same dent three times over before I knew I had. "I – I don't –"

He didn't wait for me to fumble out the rest of my non-answer.

"Lieutenant Scarfield needs to see that you are no longer his," he said softly.

I stopped counting, my eyes frozen on the rail. "I never was his!"

"Of course." Again, the amused tone. "But I do not think he understands that."

I swallowed at the feel of him moving even closer again, close enough now that his floating hair brushed against the side of my cloak's hood, close enough to quietly murmur to me without anyone hearing, "The other point, Athena, is that I touch you because you need it."

"I – what?" I looked at him, stunned into meeting his gaze by the sheer arrogance of his statement. "I _need_ it?"

He nodded. "I will take every opportunity to conquer your fear of being touched. And you _will_ conquer it," his expression was oddly earnest. "I will make sure of it."

I didn't know what to say. He seemed so sincere, as if it mattered to him to do this, and I was so confused by it that I almost forgot my discomfort over his touch. I could see his eyes changing colour as they filled my vision, and for a strange moment, I remembered how his human face had looked in our shared dream.

His eyes slid half-shut as I looked at him, and I heard him hitch his breath.

Suddenly, there was activity on the deck below.

I turned my head quickly to watch.

Lieutenant Lesaro climbed up out of the open hatch, followed by three dishevelled-looking prisoners. All of their hands had been tied tightly in front. Lesaro forced them with the end of his rapier to wait on the deck, with their backs towards the hatch, until Officer Cortez emerged, bringing up the rear. I didn't see Officer Magda anywhere, though I knew he'd gone down with Lesaro – perhaps he was still below, making sure the other prisoners were secure again. Meanwhile, Officer Santos, Bracero, and the others who had stayed up on deck had turned, immediately at attention, as they saw the prisoners had finally arrived.

But it wasn't until the prisoners were forced to turn around that I recognised Lieutenant Scarfield. Lesaro and Cortez positioned themselves on either side of them, gesturing abruptly with drawn rapiers for them to start walking across the deck.

There was a delayed exclamation behind us, and quick steps forward: Eleni had broken away from Moss to rush to the top of the stairs. I heard her soft exclamation at the sight of Scarfield, "Mon dieu!"

Lieutenant Scarfield definitely looked the worse for wear. His chest was still wrapped in the strips of petticoat I had torn for him, though now they were grimy, and on his wounded side, they were steeped with dried blood. He moved stiffly, blinking in the morning light, and I saw there was a particularly nasty bruise on his jaw, and more bruises around his shoulders. He had been hit, more than once. And hard.

I stiffened in anger. I hadn't realised that in sparing his life, he would still be subjected to violence.

Next to me Salazar tightened his fingers on my wrist in warning. "Now, now, Athena," he murmured, "Be glad he is alive, eh? Bruises are nothing. It could have been so much worse for him."

I didn't have to look at Salazar to know he was enjoying this. "You shouldn't have let your men hit him." I said through gritted teeth.

"You think _my_ men did that?" Salazar's hair brushed against my hood again as he turned towards me in disbelief. "I assure you Señorita, they did not! He spent all night in a cage with _pirates_. Did you imagine they would be polite to him? Or that he did nothing to provoke them?"

I mutely studied the other two prisoners. One was short and stocky, with a scruffy salt-and-pepper beard. He wore a reddish-orange coat that might have been nice at one time. The other was taller and thinner, dressed in a light blue coat, and sporting a scraggly light-coloured mustache. The taller one smiled faintly at everyone around him, in the nervous way the socially awkward did, and I felt sorry for him. Neither of them looked menacing. Nor did they look like the kind of men to get into a fight, and yet I saw that, as much as they possibly could, they gave Scarfield a wide berth, standing a good four or more feet away from him – out of hitting reach.

Lieutenant Scarfield stopped, and I saw his gaze sharpen as he realised I was up on the quarterdeck, standing next to Salazar. His eyes dropped to where Salazar had hold of my wrist at my side. He was practically grinding his teeth in anger, and was not subtle at all when he directed a look of absolute hatred towards the Capitán.

Lieutenant Lesaro growled low at Scarfield, prodding him with the sharp end of his rapier, in an apparent warning to him to keep moving; but Scarfield merely shot Lesaro a disdainful glare, before spitting harshly on the deck of the Mary.

"Idiota!" Salazar muttered. "La María will make him pay!"

And sure enough, the Silent Mary's deck was rippling and creaking, a clear sound of disgust; Eleni cried out and ran to the side, holding on for dear life; Scarfield stumbled heavily to his knees, and the other two prisoners shouted and clutched at each other in terror.

I grabbed the railing with my free hand, begging the Mary without knowing why or if she'd even listen to me, "Please, please, _please,_ don't!"

And then – the Silent Mary stopped.

Salazar's wheezing breath filled my hearing, I glanced at him and saw he was just as surprised as I was. But then a groan of pain reached my ears and all I could do was look down as Scarfield climbed slowly and painfully to his feet.

There followed an uncertain moment, when Lesaro and Cortez, obviously chagrined that the Mary hadn't done more, both looked like they were strongly debating whether or not to run Scarfield through in spite of Salazar's commands that he was to go free.

But it was Bracero who beat them there first. With a guttural cry, he leapt at Scarfield, his hands closing around the man's throat and his face a mask of fury. It happened so fast I didn't even have time to react. Lesaro barked a swift order at Santos to restrain the other two prisoners who'd stumbled backwards in alarm from Bracero's attack, but did nothing to stop him from throttling Scarfield. It wasn't until the next second, when Bracero drew back a fist to hit him in the face, while still choking him, that I shook off my inertia.

"This has to stop!" I tried to pull my wrist out of Salazar's grip, leaning all my weight back to give me leverage – but Salazar growled and jerked me back.

"You will _not_ move again, Athena!" He folded his free arm behind my back, forcing me right against his chest, turning us to face the awful scene below. "You will only watch, and do nothing!"

Scarfield was making short, horrible noises deep in his throat, and Lesaro was in no hurry to intervene. Only when Scarfield's face started to turn red did Lesaro glance up at Capitán Salazar for orders.

Orders which Salazar did not appear he wanted to give.

"Please stop this!" I pleaded.

But he would not look at me. "He should not to be foolish!"

"You made a promise!"

Salazar tensed, and then sighed. He seemed reluctantly about to speak an order to release Scarfield, when Magda materialised, seemingly out of nowhere, and uttered an abrupt phrase in Spanish at Bracero. I had no idea what he said, but whatever it was, it made the deckhand stop choking him instantly, and shove Scarfield back in disgust instead. Salazar did not reprimand either Bracero or Lesaro. His expression was calm, his mouth relaxed, his posture indifferent. He didn't even seem angered that Magda had commanded Bracero to stop, instead of waiting on his Capitán to do so.

He simply clicked his tongue again, and said, "Ah, another day, perhaps."

After a brief nod from Salazar, Lieutenant Lesaro barked an order at the prisoners to start walking again.

Scarfield glared at everyone, coughing and rubbing at his neck.

"Come, Athena," Salazar pulled me even more in front of him, until I was standing between him and the rail. "Your Lieutenant is leaving. Let him see you as he goes."

I knew it was for Scarfield's benefit: to place himself firmly behind me, boxing me against the railing, showing him that while he was being freed, I was still a prisoner. Scarfield saw this, his blue eyes bright with fury, and his face creased in anger. But Lesaro was eager now to get them away, and prodded and forced the resisting Scarfield across the deck. Bracero went ahead of them swiftly, unfurling a rope ladder over the side of the Mary, to where a smallboat had been tethered to the side, waiting to take them to St Martin. I could see Scarfield's dawning realisation – that they were well and truly being released to leave the Silent Mary – and midway across the deck, he stopped moving once more.

Lesaro snarled at him to keep going, but instead Scarfield turned, and actually dared to start walking towards us as he called up, "Capitán Salazar!"

"Keep moving!" Lesaro ordered, his rapier swishing in the air between Scarfield and the next step he took towards the quarterdeck. Scarfield stopped short of the sharp blade with a sneer, before addressing Salazar again.

"Capitán Salazar," he repeated in a hoarse voice, "Why are you releasing us?"

" _Walk_!" Lesaro's rapier tapped Scarfield's bandaged chest, and Cortez pushed the Lieutenant's shoulder to keep moving.

"No, let him speak," Salazar was calmness itself. "I will hear what he has to say."

Lesaro drew his rapier away, but continued glaring at Scarfield. The other two prisoners had been forced to a standstill by Magda and Santos, everyone's focus on Scarfield and the Capitán.

"Why are you letting us go?" Scarfield repeated.

"Are you wishing to stay?" Salazar smiled, but his eyes glinted dangerously.

"El Matador Del Mar, the Butcher of the Sea, does not show mercy!" Scarfield became sarcastic. "So forgive me, but I find it hard to believe you truly mean to free us!"

"As tempting as your death is, I have a better offer." Salazar lifted my wrist, and placed it on the railing, where Scarfield could clearly see his hold on me.

Scarfield's face darkened with rage. "If there was a shred of honour in you –"

"Honour?" Salazar's grip tightened. "What do _you_ know of honour!"

I gritted my teeth to keep from crying out; his hand was painfully squeezing my wrist bones together, but Scarfield did not need more reason to endanger himself by fighting with Salazar, so I kept my mouth firmly closed.

"I would not hold a Lady as a prisoner of war –" Scarfield called out.

Salazar laughed. "No, you just hang them for witches in the town square!"

Scarfield's mouth snapped shut, and he looked pale.

"You think I don't know?" Salazar's laugh crackled through his words. "You think I can't _see_? You have hung innocent women, without any mercy, hombre, and watched while they died. Your guilt is so strong, I can even see their faces. And you stand there and talk of _honour_."

I stared at Scarfield, horrified. After my conversation with the Capitán, about him being able to sense the guilt in others, I knew he was telling the truth. And Scarfield's guilt must have been _very_ strong, for Salazar to actually be able to see his victims. But there was another part of me that just couldn't accept it. I had seen Salazar's men kill. I had _heard_ them slaughtering on the Proserpine, and though I knew a little more of their reasons for why they had no mercy – on either pirates or those who sided with pirates – it didn't change the fact that I had seen them kill. But I couldn't imagine Scarfield hanging a woman he knew to be innocent…

Scarfield's gaze slid to my face, as though about to beg me not to believe the Capitán's words, but before he could speak, Salazar went on.

"Sí, there was one. Liked her _very_ much. She had yellow hair, and that dress!" He made a mocking face of admiration, "It was a very pretty dress… until the blood."

Scarfield became paler than ever.

"But," he sighed, tilting his head and making his hair float out, "You're trying to forget all of their faces. Does it make them too human, hombre? Giving them eyes filled with fear, soft lips that cry in pain?" His eyes went cold, even though they burned like _fire,_ and it made me shiver. "You," he hissed after a moment of judgement, "Have more women around you than I care to let the Señorita know. Now put them all in the boat," Salazar commanded his men. "I have things to do."

But as Lesaro moved his rapier again, tapping it lightly on Scarfield's chest to make him move back and continue on, he still resisted.

"Release Lady Stanhope," Scarfield demanded roughly. "If you are going to release anyone, then release Lady Stanhope!"

"Oh," Salazar said lightly. "You may take the maid –" Lesaro stiffened at his Capitán's words, "I am sure she will be very grateful to me for it!"

Eleni turned a shocked face towards Salazar – evidently, she was not expecting to be freed, after the way he'd refused to follow her advice about breaking his curse.

"You cannot let Eleni leave without her mistress!" Scarfield cried out.

"I can and I will!" Salazar cast a hard glance at Eleni. "After all, I have _not_ forgotten the original offer she made, which I am sure she will now eagerly follow through on! But this Señorita," he locked my wrist up against my chest, pulling me to lean back against him, "Stays with me."

Eleni did not make a move. Not a step. But she did look, strangely, at Lesaro – who seemed all of a sudden unwilling to meet her eyes, as though afraid of what he might see there.

But Lieutenant Scarfield would not move. "I would rather die than leave her here with you!"

Salazar drew in a sharp wheezing breath, and I felt his entire body tense up against my back.

 _Bloody hell,_ I cursed silently. _He's really done it now._

"And what do you propose? To fight for her freedom?" Salazar studied Scarfield, bemused.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him looking at Scarfield almost fondly, like he was... almost like he was a child, and had said something particularly naive, but sweet of heart. That look made me suddenly terrified. More terrified than if he'd been enraged. Salazar smiled down at the filthy man on the deck below me.

"Give me my sword, and I will!" Scarfield pressed his chest against Lesaro's rapier, not flinching when Lesaro pressed it back, or when a thin line of red started to show underneath it.

I saw Scarfield in that instant with new eyes, in the harsh light of the unrelenting sun, and I realised he was very sick. His eyes were red and glassy, his skin sallow, his cheeks starting to sink in and covered with an itchy-looking stubble. He had bruises and swollen joints and he was favouring his wounded side. He tried once, twice, to focus on me again, and the effort put a wrinkle between his brows.

"Don't!" I tried to say. "Please don't be stupid –" My voice wavered again, and I knew that if he was allowed to fight, he would die. He was not in any shape to row a boat, much less fight a _duel._

"No, no, no, Athena, he wants to be noble…" Salazar murmured quietly, for my ears only, and he slid his thumb over my palm once more, before saying louder to Scarfield. "You want to wash your guilt away with a show of valour, no?"

He sounded considering, like he was actually interested in the concept; his chest pushing against my back as he took a long, rasping breath in. But though his interest rang patently false to me, I found myself biting my tongue anyway. If I said the wrong thing now, someone _was_ going to die.

"I will not leave without her." Scarfield said.

"You would fight a dead man?" Salazar mocked. "You cannot kill a dead man."

"I would fight until _I_ died, if it would free her."

"Just leave!" I pleaded, unable to stand it any longer. "I'll be fine, just get in the boat and leave –"

Salazar tapped a warning finger on the underside of my wrist, making me stop.

"You wish to fight for her?" Salazar said. "You think that will make up for all that you have done?"

"No," Scarfield said tightly, his eyes bright. "But at least it's a start."

Salazar studied Scarfield in silence.

"Then so be it," he struck his own sword against the deck at his feet, an unusual rhythmic pattern that made all his crew look up in surprise at their Capitán. "Lieutenant shall duel Lieutenant to the death then – and let that expiate your wrongs."  
  
  
  



	18. The Duel

_"Then so be it," he struck his own sword against the deck at his feet, an unusual rhythmic pattern that made all his crew look up in surprise at their Capitán. "Lieutenant shall duel Lieutenant to the death then – and let that expiate your wrongs."_

 

* * *

 

"No," I looked on, horrified, as the ropes binding Scarfield's wrists were cut, and his sword was swiftly brought for him. "No! You said you wouldn't kill him –"

"It is what he wants," Salazar pressed closer. "And who am I to deny a man who wants to die for _love_?"

"But you said –"

"Athena." He turned me towards him abruptly, taking both my wrists in one hand and squeezing them.

"Capitán Salazar, please –"

"Are you begging, Athena?" His eyes blazed, and he looked as if he both wanted me to beg him, and was angry that I would even dare.

I couldn't help glancing down towards Scarfield. "What else am I supposed to do?"

His eyes glowed red, and his lips drew back over his clenched teeth, as though struggling to keep back the harsh words from leaping out.

"Stop – _caring_!" he hissed, roughly jerking my wrists into his chest. "Stop caring so much!"

"I can't!" I hated the way it was so easy for him to hold me still, I hated being this weak – but it meant that the only thing I could do was try and reason with him. "He thinks I'm his fiancée!" I said in a low voice. "I couldn't live with it, if he died –"

Salazar shook his head stubbornly. " _Your_ Lieutenant may be a fool, Athena, but I trust _mine_ implicitly. Lesaro knows what I've ordered."

I started to shake my head, wanting to argue back, but he stopped me.

"Trust me, Athena," Salazar's eyes blazed in anger, "I will keep my word to you!"

I didn't have anything to say to that – Capitán Salazar’s constantly changing moods were unpredictable, and his abrupt about-face on what he'd agreed for Scarfield's fate made it hard to trust him. But I didn't dare tell him that.

"Watch," he took in a wheezing breath, as if calming himself; nodding for me to look down towards the lower deck. "Watch and see…"

I turned awkwardly, as he once more boxed me in against the railing, placing one hand over the top of my wrist, his chest against my back.

We were just in time to see Lesaro bring his rapier up to his face in a gesture of respect for his opponent, before lowering it again. Lesaro waited, his rapier angled down so that the tip hovered inches from the deck.

Scarfield ignored Lesaro, taking time to examine his blade. He swung it back and forth, looking down at the bandages around his side, as if testing how the movement affected them. Satisfied that the bandages weren't in any danger of unravelling, he then held it up to look down its length, felt its weight in his hand, twisted it this way and that.

I had never watched anyone fight with swords before. In a movie maybe, but not in real life. But this wasn't the movies, and it wasn't even a fencing match. There would be no rules, no one calling 'cut', no referee to protect either of them. Scarfield seemed to be spending a long time checking over his sword, and I wondered if he was doing it on purpose, making Lesaro wait, as I watched him pinch the tip of the sword between his thumb and forefinger, moving it back and forth.

"Why is he –?" I couldn't help starting to ask, curious – before remembering that Salazar might not in the best mood to answer any questions, and I closed my mouth.

"You want to know why he is doing that?" he sounded amused, and shifted around to my side a little, as if to see my face better.

"Yes."

"To test the flexibility.” His smiled mockingly. “He does not appear to have a lot of faith in us… he thinks we have tampered with his blade." Salazar paused, and then added, with a note of curiosity, "Have you never seen a duel?"

I shook my head.

"Do they have swords in your time?" Salazar directed his question to me quietly, so that the others wouldn't overhear.

"No. Not like… just carrying them around like you all do."

"Then what do they duel with?" He was genuinely curious.

"They don't." I said bluntly.

"¿Que?" He looked incredulous. "They don't?"

"No. No one duels anymore."

Salazar blinked. "Are you telling me… that no one duelled that _idiota_ on your behalf?"

I turned and looked at him blankly, not understanding him.

"No one challenged him for betraying you?" Salazar still could not believe it. "No one made him pay for hurting you like he did?"

I realised he was talking about the man who had lied to me and then left me – I had never really felt able to call him my 'ex'. An ex implied a relationship, and enough time had elapsed for me to see that we had never had much of a one to begin with, to warrant calling him my ex. But it surprised and puzzled me that Salazar would remember, or that he'd be thinking about it even now.

"It's – it's just not like that anymore," I shrugged uncomfortably.

Salazar's eyebrows drew together, and he muttered something to himself in Spanish.

A single hard thud sounded from the deck below, drawing our attention.

Impatient, Lesaro had sharply tapped his heel, tired of waiting for Scarfield to finish fussing with his sword.

Scarfield turned, and assumed an elaborate fighting stance. He moved with the ease and confidence of a man who'd had years of training; and in spite of his injured side, was capable of operating purely on muscle memory. I watched as he lifted his free hand up above his head in a slightly effeminate flourish that had Bracero sneering and muttering something rude under his breath behind him, and Magda's lips twisting in disdain.

Scarfield didn't seem to have noticed their contempt. In fact, he didn't seem to be able to concentrate on anything outside of his immediate space at all. As the moment stretched on, he also seemed to be having trouble keeping his sword steady; it wavered slightly, as if it cost him just to keep it up.

By contrast, Lesaro made no move, assumed no posture. He didn't even raise his sword. If it weren't for the way his lips thinned, and the way his focus narrowed in hard on Scarfield, I wouldn't have known he was preparing to fight at all.

For a tense moment, no one spoke, as the two sized each other up.

And then Scarfield lunged with fury, his sword directed at Lesaro's chest.

Lesaro smoothly stepped to the side, his rapier whipping up and around in a graceful arc to tap lightly on Scarfield's blade as he did. The sound was surprisingly sweet, like the chime of a bell, ringing out over the deck.

Scarfield slid clumsily, but even in spite of his physical weakness, was able to bring his sword in a backwards slashing motion, trying to catch Lesaro on the arm as he went past.

Again Lesaro avoided the hit, his rapier rapping the blow away before coming up to guard his face, circling deftly around until he was behind Scarfield.

Scarfield's mouth tightened in annoyance, and he followed just as quickly, his sword also up. But it was obvious now, even to me, that it was getting harder and harder for him to keep his sword arm in position. His muscles were trembling with the effort, his face already starting to shine with sweat, and he seemed to be slowing down. He advanced unsteadily towards Lesaro, his sword pointed again at the other man's chest.

Once more, Lesaro flicked his rapier down and diffidently tapped the edge of Scarfield's sword. It was almost a playful taunt, like he was playing with a child.

"Fight me properly, damn you!" Scarfield snarled, and lunged wildly.

Lesaro stepped to the right at the very last second, in a precisely timed move that was so fast it made me rake my fingers across the rotted railing, and made Eleni gasp loudly from where she watched.

But surprisingly, Scarfield seemed to have been expecting the last second move, for he spun and lunged again, attacking on Lesaro's left side, obviously trying to use the blindness in his left eye to an advantage.

"¡Maldito idiota!" Salazar cursed, angry at the underhand attempt from Scarfield, at the same time that Eleni clutched her hands together in fear, crying out a warning – though it wasn't clear to me who exactly she was trying to warn.

I could see that Scarfield had desperately been trying to seek an opportunity – any opportunity – to win, but the fierce mask of hatred with which he'd aimed his sword, trying to plunge it through Lesaro's eyepatch, made me feel sick.

Not that there was any need for concern.

Lesaro had coolly knocked Scarfield's blade downwards with a powerful clang, and Scarfield staggered under the force of it.

I winced, the sound like a death knell to my ears. I had the most awful feeling, that this was not going to end well, no matter what the Capitán had said to me about trusting him – that Scarfield really was about to die, in the thin hope that it might win Lady Stanhope her freedom, and absolve him of his own guilt.

I bit my tongue, longing to tell Scarfield to stop and to bow out of the duel; but I knew from the grim set of his mouth that Scarfield would be too proud now to forfeit. And Capitán Salazar would most likely refuse to grant him mercy anyway.

I slid a look at Salazar, and immediately met his glowing eyes; he had been watching me, I realised, in the same way that I'd been watching the duel below, and it made my stomach turn over nervously.

In response to my look, he suddenly stroked a thumb over the top of my wrist, and murmured, "Poor Athena. Did you really think your Lieutenant could best my Lieutenant?"

There was nothing I could say. I had never had more than the slimmest of hopes for Scarfield, and he knew that. We both knew that.

Lesaro had neatly stepped out of the way and politely waited, while Scarfield tried to recuperate, his sword arm loose at his side, the blade scraping along the deck as his knees started to buckle.

Lesaro stayed still, his rapier back up in front of his face.

"You betray – what you're – afraid of!" Scarfield panted, squinting at Lesaro. His filthy bandages were loosening, and I could see his wound had opened up yet again, a fresh blot of dark blood seeping out.

"You do not know what I fear." Lesaro responded lightly. "And I believe you wouldn't understand it, even if you did know."

"Really? Tell me, Spaniard," Scarfield sneered as he straightened, the pain of doing so showing clearly on his face, "Can you lose your other eye? Is that why you're protecting it?"

Lesaro made no answer. He simply stood there waiting patiently, his head tilted down and slightly away, watching Scarfield with his good eye.

Scarfield side-stepped in tandem with Lesaro this time, watching the Spaniard more carefully, eyes flicking down to the direction of Lesaro's feet.

And then, when Lesaro flicked his rapier down to tap once more on his opponent's sword, Scarfield rushed forward, slamming Lesaro's rapier out of the way, thrusting high – but this time, aiming for Lesaro's good eye.

His blunt, vicious attack, which he obviously had calculated would throw the careful and precise Spaniard, and which might well have frightened a less experienced swordsman, failed completely against Lieutenant Lesaro.

Lesaro turned his body sideways, allowing Scarfield's thrust to carry past his face, and then, his hand whipping out so fast it was a blur, Lesaro snatched Scarfield's sword-hand by the wrist.

Wrenching his arm down hard so that he cried out in pain and buckled to his knees, Lesaro twisted until Scarfield's arm was behind his back. He planted his feet firmly behind him as he pinned his arm up painfully in one hand, while whipping his own rapier against Scarfield's neck with the other.

It was all done so fast, I didn't even have time to blink.

Scarfield struggled, but try as he might, he could not get out of the lock Lesaro had on him, and the Spaniard's blade dug into the flesh at his throat until he had no choice except to yield, throwing his own sword, with what little slack Lesaro allowed him, to the deck in humiliated defeat.

Lesaro looked up at Salazar. "Permission to kill, Capitán?"

Scarfield twisted his head and locked his eyes directly on me. His lips were set in a grim line, his face a pale mask of detachment, but his eyes…

Scarfield’s eyes flickered with disgust one last time over where the Capitán’s hand rested on my skin, before lifting them and setting them resolutely on my face, and I knew he was looking at me – no, not me, at Lady Stanhope – to memorise every last feature, so that her face was the last thing he'd see, the last image in his mind, before he died.

I held my breath, my fingers sinking into the crumbling railing beneath my fingers, even as Salazar stroked loosely over my wrist with his burning hand. His avid gaze was fixed on Lesaro's blade across Scarfield's throat, his lips parting in satisfaction, and I expected him to give that order to kill with the next rasping breath…

I couldn't take it any longer.

With a strength I didn't know I had, I wrenched myself away from Capitán Salazar and ran towards the steps leading down to the main deck, hearing his strong command in Spanish behind me, "¡Detenerla antes de que la maten!"

"Señorita, no!" Moss exclaimed, eyes wide in alarm when he realised what I was doing. "Por favor, Señorita, do not interfere –"

Moss tried to step forward to intercept me, but he never made it.

"Ah, mon dieu, I am fainting!" Eleni dramatically tripped and fell onto Moss, who barely managed to catch her in his arms, but I had no time to even register it, only enough time to gratefully slide past them and fly down the steps with a speed I don't think Lady Stanhope's body had ever had to use in her life.

The other Officers on the deck seemed surprised for a moment, staring at me as I ran towards Lesaro, but all I could think of was that I'd wrench his sword arm away, that I would yell at Scarfield to run, hoping like hell he'd react fast enough to leap over the side into the sea, and swim for safety…

" _No_ , Señorita." Magda was in my way, cold face impassive as his sword made me skid to a complete stop to avoid impaling myself on it.

Behind him, there seemed to be some sort of commotion, and before I could think what to do next, I saw Scarfield had somehow managed to use the distraction I'd afforded to struggle out of Lesaro's grasp, landing a punch on the other Lieutenant's face to buy himself the precious second he needed to snatch his sword up off the deck and stand again.

I drew in a breath of relief, just as Magda half-turned to see what I was looking at over his shoulder – when Scarfield shoved him out of the way to grab me by the waist and haul me with a sweat-slick arm back against himself.

"What the hell!" I cried out in shock. "What are you doing?"

"Saving us," he muttered in my ear, his sour breath wafting over my face, before waving his sword at the others and shouting, "Stay back, damn you! Stay back!"

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPANISH TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> Detenerla antes de que la maten! - Stop her before she gets herself killed/they kill her
> 
> Maldito Idiota - Stupid idiot (Do not say this in Spain. Very rude!)


	19. The Threat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR'S NOTE: So... someone twisted my arm, and here's the next chapter ahead of schedule : D

_I drew in a breath of relief, just as Magda half-turned to see what I was looking at over his shoulder – when Scarfield shoved him out of the way to grab me by the waist and haul me with a sweat-slick arm back against himself._

_"What the hell!" I cried out in shock. "What are you doing?"_

_"Saving us," he muttered in my ear, his sour breath wafting over my face, before waving his sword at the others and shouting, "Stay back!"_

 

* * *

 

Scarfield's touch was nothing like the Capitán's. He smelt sharply of sour brine, the press of his sweaty arm over my stomach made me nauseous, and I wanted nothing more than to get away from him. But the panic I'd always felt previously at being close to Scarfield was – gone.

But there was no time for me to wonder at this.

Magda was furious. Deeply insulted at Scarfield's brazen shove, he said something in low Spanish to Bracero, who nodded and slid two nasty daggers out into his hands, his wolfish grin making me very sure that Scarfield had just made a very bad error of judgement.

"I think we'd better surrender," I said out of the corner of my mouth.

"Never." Scarfield hissed through clenched teeth. "I'm never surrendering!"

Lieutenant Lesaro started to stalk towards us, his single-eyed gaze just as enraged as I'd ever seen Capitán Salazar's, and he was quickly joined, not just by Magda and Bracero, but Cortez and even Santos, who'd grimly drawn his own sword in an unmistakable warning to Scarfield.

"You're as good as dead," Santos said without emotion, "But you should at least release the Lady, and spare her from having to see you die."

Scarfield swung his sword back and forth at all of them, as they started to advance on us. "I said stay back!"

But they weren't going to stop. Lesaro was going to kill Scarfield with or without permission this time, I was sure of it; while Bracero looked exactly like he hoped to run both Scarfield and me through with the nasty looking daggers he had.

Scarfield started to awkwardly walk me backwards across the deck, moving us both towards where the rope ladder hung over the side.

"Please don't do this!" I whispered to him urgently, trying to wrestle myself out of his arm. "It's not worth your life!"

"I'm sorry Beatrice, but if we don't leave we'll be dead anyway –" his arm squeezed tighter around my waist, "Or you'll wish you were."

"No, no, you don't understand," I stumbled and tripped as he kept yanking me backwards, more and more of the Silent Mary crew circling and closing in on us, "I had an agreement, I made a promise to trade –"

"A promise?" Scarfield's hiss was harsh in my ear, "You made a promise to me first! You may not have accepted my proposal, but you said you had affection for me! Or did your words mean nothing, Beatrice?"

I gulped, realising he was talking about a conversation he must have had with Lady Stanhope before I'd taken over her body – before everything had happened.

"But –"

"No, Beatrice," he jerked his head decisively, "I won't let you whore yourself to these disgusting –"

A low growl made him spin me around.

Capitán Salazar had been standing behind us at the very edge of the ship, between Scarfield and the rope ladder that led down to the smallboat.

His eyes were blood red.

And the rage that rolled off of him… it was so palpable I could almost taste it, ash and iron and blood.

Salazar kept his sword tightly gripped at his side, but I knew he – in fact, all the men of the Silent Mary – could move faster than I could humanly follow, and it would cost him nothing to have that sword through our hearts, killing us both before we could draw our next breath.

"Release the Señorita," Moss quietly advised at Salazar's side. Eleni had been forced along next to Moss, following her fake fainting fit, and now looked utterly stricken at the turn of events. Her mouth parted a few times as if she wanted to say something, but was physically incapable.

We were completely surrounded now, no clear way through to the smallboat below, unless it was through one of the crew – or the Capitán himself.

"Stay back or I'll – I'll kill her!" Scarfield cried.

I froze as I felt him press the cold steel of his blade against my throat.

"Oh no, John!" Eleni's squeak cut through the thick silence that enveloped the deck at his threat. "You mustn't!"

"Stupid girl!" Scarfield snarled at her. "You've been less than useless as a maid since Port Royal! But then, I could hardly expect better from someone of your class!"

Uneasily, I was reminded of the voices in the Nightmare I'd shared with Capitán Salazar; the ones who'd said similar sorts of things to me. Eleni looked absolutely crushed at his words, visibly wilting at the weight of his undisguised abhorrence for her.

"!Despreciable cabrón!" I heard someone snarl from the side, but I couldn't turn to see who it was.

I was too frightened to even move my head. All I could do was stare helplessly at Capitán Salazar in front of me, and not for the first time I wished I hadn't been so stupid or so reckless in rushing to save this man. Who now held his own sword against me.

"You're going to – to stand aside, and let us leave!" Scarfield's voice was distinctly strained as he addressed Capitán Salazar. "Beatrice and I. If you try and stop me, I'll kill her!"

"¿De verdad?" Lesaro circled into my line of sight, taking a position at his Capitán's side, a mixture of disgust and disbelief on his face. "First you insult one Señorita, and now you'd kill the other?"

"It's what he has done for years, hating and killing defenceless women," Magda's flinty voice sounded from another side. "Old habits."

"I will if I have to," Scarfield said, and I shivered at the hard determination in his voice. "I'm sorry, Beatrice," he added to me, "I know how desperate you must be, but I won't let you pollute yourself with them!"

Salazar still hadn't spoken, simply watching, listening, his grip on his sword tight.

"You have a strange sense of the Lady's character, if you think she would even offer such a thing," Santos mused coolly on our other side, next to Cortez.

"I know what men are like!" Scarfield sneered. "And I know what kind of promises, and agreements, women will make when they think they have no choice!"

I gasped in horror. Scarfield really did seem to believe that the agreement I'd tried to tell him about just now was some kind of sordidly sexual one. Not that I couldn't see how he'd jumped to that conclusion, especially as Salazar had enjoyed making a show of it all, and especially in the way he'd placed his hand over mine in front of Scarfield. But it still made me angry, to think how quickly he'd jumped to the worst possible conclusion about his fiancée; without even stopping to ask, or even just give the benefit of the doubt.

"It's – not – like that!" I said tightly, trying to push his sword arm away, before giving up in exhaustion. It seemed that pulling away from the Capitán and sprinting down the stairs had taken up all of my body's reserves of strength.

"It's not like I've had a lot of choice about any of this!" I sighed, exasperated, "But I've been trying to save you –"

"Quiet, Beatrice!" Scarfield's voice was sharper and colder than I'd ever heard from him, before he muttered in my ear, "I saw the way you let him touch you! You didn't even try to stop him!"

I felt my face heating, and wanted to snap back a retort, but I couldn't help a small glance at the Capitán, who in that moment had such a look of genuine interest to hear how I would answer, that my tongue tripped over itself in alarm.

"I know you thought you had no choice, Beatrice –"

"Lieutenant Scarfield!" I tried to interrupt.

"But you should never have entered into any sort of promise –"

"Lieutenant Scarfield –"

"– with a thing like him, and I'll be damned if I let him touch you with his dead hands again!"

"Shut up!" I snapped.

The way Scarfield had spoken, the sneering tone of his voice, now sounded so exactly like those awful, bullying voices inside the Nightmare, that it triggered my temper: I was more than exasperated at Scarfield now. I was angry.

"To be honest," I gritted out between my teeth, "If I did have a choice, I think I'd rather have him touching –"

"Beatrice stop!" Scarfield's sword arm shook, the blade slipping against my skin – terrified at being cut, I reared my head back, pressing myself further into him, to avoid the sharp edge.

"I don't know what evil magic you possess," he raised his voice to Salazar, "But I know you've done something to her! So if you don't let us leave, right now, I'll kill her where she stands!"

"You dare to threaten her…" It was the first time Salazar had spoken since descending from the quarter deck, and it made my spine turn to water. "To me?"

Scarfield's grip tightened around my waist, and his voice trembled slightly with fear. "I do."

Salazar shook his head, his hair swimming out wildly with the movement, "No, no, no, you are bluffing."

"Think I'm bluffing?" Scarfield was hoarse. "I would rather kill my fiancée myself than live knowing she's a whore to the likes of you!"

"Ah, idiota," Salazar mocked cruelly. "You fool. The woman you hold is not your fiancée."

There was a pause.

I stiffened in Scarfield's arms, not even daring to risk turning to see if he believed the Capitán.

"Haven't you guessed yet?" Salazar said softly. "Are you so stupid? I can only imagine the kind of woman who would appeal to a man like you… but I know enough to guess that Athena is nothing like your Lady Stanhope." Salazar's eyes rested on me for a fraction of a second. "She is unique."

I wasn't exactly sure what he meant when he said that, but Scarfield was already replying, and I couldn't waste time puzzling it out.

"You're lying…" Scarfield whispered.

"Am I?" Salazar tilted his head. "Or haven't you the courage to admit to yourself what you already suspect? Deep down, you must know. Athena speaks so differently. Nothing like an English Lady. She is brave. She takes initiative. She cares enough to risk her own life… ah… I can see it on your face. You begin to understand?"

And Scarfield's hold on me loosened, his sword arm wavered and dipped away, and I could hear him release a strained breath…

And then suddenly Salazar was snarling in Scarfield's face, and I was being forcibly yanked out of his grasp and flung to the deck, and there was an unforgettable _snap!_ as Salazar broke Scarfield's sword out of his grasp and tossed it over the side into the sea.

Scarfield screamed in agony, and I realised, horrified, as I looked up from where I had fallen, that he must've broken a finger, possibly even fractured his wrist.

His scream was cut short, as Salazar closed his hand around Scarfield's neck, lifting him high above the deck, as he strode steadily towards the edge of the Silent Mary, his sword angled up in his other hand as though getting ready to plunge it through the Lieutenant's grimy chest.

"Capitán!" I cried. "Don't!"

I clumsily struggled to my feet, but Magda was again in my way.

"No." He pressed me back. "You have done enough."

"But he's going to kill him!" I cried.

Magda closed a fist on the front of my cloak, preventing me from moving. "A simple death. It is less than he deserves."

I could hear the awful sounds of Scarfield being choked for the second time that morning, and Salazar's snarled Spanish, and it made me try to twist out of Magda's hold, try to scramble past him, crying, "Please, please don't let him do this!"

Magda shook his head. "It is not for us to tell the Capitán –"

In a moment of inspiration, I tugged the strings that held the cloak together free, letting it fall away to dodge past Magda, leaving my cloak behind in his hands.

Salazar was still holding Scarfield, kicking and struggling, right over the edge of the ship; shaking him by the throat, black dripping down his chin, as he growled out a steady stream of guttural-sounding Spanish.

"Stop!" I pushed blindly past Lesaro and the others who had crowded around in anticipation to watch Scarfield die, ignoring their stunned and hostile expressions, as I reached out and placed a hand on Salazar's shoulder.

His head snapped around in shock at my touch, his hair lashed across my face, and then his eyes glowed red again with rage, filling my vision – but I couldn't let it stop me.

"Please, don't!" I swallowed at the feel of his stiff coat, but I didn't take my hand away, well aware that his sword was precariously close. He had only to move it a few inches to hurt me.

His eyes roved distractedly over my hair, the hair that he'd insisted covering up with the cloak's hood, before he blinked and shook off my hand with a snarl.

"So brave, Señorita! How can you stand to touch me?" He cast the man clawing desperately at the grip around his throat a snide look, "The Lieutenant here would object – if he had breath to spare!"

"Just let him leave, please!" I was so close to him, I could almost feel the way his muscles tensed at my plea.

"I can let him leave," Salazar tilted his head, eyes burning into mine, "But alive, Athena? Was him being alive one of your conditions..."

Scarfield was going blue in the face, Salazar's fingers buried so deeply into the flesh of his throat that I knew I might only have seconds before he died…and that was when I did something absolutely stupid.

I tried to tug Salazar's sword out of his hand.

I didn't really know what I was doing, only that in the moment I was blindly thinking I had to do something, anything that might get him to stop.

He stared down at me for a moment in absolute incredulity.

And then to my complete surprise, he let go of his sword.

I stumbled back a few paces. I couldn't believe he'd actually let me succeed in pulling it away, but I wasted no time in pointing it, trembling, at his throat.

"Let him go!" I cried, my voice hoarse with terror.

Around me, I heard various gasps and Spanish imprecations rising at what the Capitán had allowed me to do, in taking his sword, but I couldn't afford to look away from Salazar. Not with Scarfield's life in the balance. Not with his promise to me in the balance.

"He was going to kill you." Salazar shook his head. "And you still want him to live?"

"It's not about him," I snapped. "It's about you! You promised!"

Scarfield tried to speak, but couldn't; emitting instead a tight-sounding whine.

"No." He said commandingly, and for a second I thought he was talking to me, before I realised he was ordering his men behind me, telling them not to attack me.

"No, Bracero!" Capitán Salazar said again, and I swallowed, feeling the slightest of stirrings in the air at my neck. I didn't need to turn to look. I knew Bracero must have been very close to stabbing me with his daggers.

"Let him go!" I repeated, waving the heavy sword with both hands, trying my best to look and sound threatening.

But I knew there was no chance. Even holding his own sword, even if I had the resolve to actually attack the Capitán, I knew there was no killing a man who was already in a state of death. I just didn't know how else to make him stop.

"How many times," Salazar's voice tremored with the effort of self-control, "Must you threaten me with a weapon you do not have the courage to use, Señorita?"

"As many times as it takes!" I forced myself to take a step forward, holding the sword barely an inch from his chest, right over where his heart would be, determined. "As many times as it takes to get through to you! You don't have to be like this!"

He stared at me.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Scarfield's head start to droop.

My eyes were starting to prick with stupid tears, and I felt like I was going to burst out crying from the effort of trying not to collapse in the exhausted body I was in.

"Ah," he tilted his head, studying me as though for the first time, "Poor Athena..."

And then he dropped him.

I drew in a shocked breath as a second later I heard the sound of Scarfield landing in the water, and started to rush to the side to see – but Salazar caught me and held me firmly away from looking down below.

"You nearly broke your promise, Athena," he growled in my ear. "You nearly left! Now give me my sword."

He spun me to face him, his hand already waiting impatiently to have it.

"My sword, Athena," he repeated.

I wanted to look over the side, I needed to make sure Scarfield was alive, that the promise hadn't been broken, but his expression warned me not to even try.

I passed it to him hilt first, inwardly a little relieved to be giving it back, and he took it with an unreadable look at me, before turning away to face his men.

"Lieutenant Lesaro. See to the maid. It seems she will be with us a little longer, after all."

Lesaro went at once to Eleni, who looked as if she was barely able to stand anymore, and I heard him murmur a question to her. She nodded slightly, wiping at her eyes with the heel of one hand and looking away, before Lesaro took her by the elbow and escorted her away up the stairs.

"Officer Moss," Salazar's voice was abruptly icy, "It used to be your duty to watch the Señorita."

"Capitán," Moss said carefully, "I am content to continue guarding Señorita Athena –"

"Officer Magda. Return Señorita Athena's cloak." As Magda handed it to me, Salazar continued, "I am relieving Antonio of his extra duties, and giving them to you. When you return from escorting the prisoners, you will personally take the Señorita from my cabin to whatever room you wish. See to it that she never leaves that room again. Not for any reason."

I clutched the cloak to my chest, and felt my stomach drop into my boots at the Capitán's orders. Magda was certainly not going to be as kind to me as Moss had been. But at the same time I knew I was lucky not to be impaled for daring to snatch the Capitán's own sword from him. Very lucky.

"Sí, Capitán," Magda replied flatly, looking just as thrilled at his new duties as I felt.

"Cortez." Salazar turned reluctantly. "Go. Make sure that wretched man doesn't drown."

Salazar then turned to nod a wordless command at Santos and Bracero, who immediately started towards where the other two pirates had been huddled against the side of the hull in terror, looking very much like they wished they were invisible.

"Up," Bracero shouted at them. "Up!"

I had to stand there, watching as they forced the two prisoners at sword point to climb over the side and into the waiting small boat below. Their progress was slow, as their hands were tied, but Salazar seemed perfectly at ease to stand next to me, leaning on his sword.

Salazar's outward mood of apparent calm was nerve-wracking. He didn't look at me once. I couldn't tell what he was thinking. I knew from what he'd said to Magda that I was about to have to face him in his cabin – alone – but I had no idea what he had in mind. Whatever it was, I knew he wasn't going to let me get away without a consequence for the way I'd interfered.

Once the pirates had reached the boat below, Salazar addressed Santos and Magda. "Both of you, go with Cortez, and escort them within cannonshot of those ships. And tell them to relay a message to St Martin: I will be free of my Curse, with or without their help. But if they attack, they will die. All of them."

He glanced at me once. "And there will be no one to persuade me to change my mind if they attack."

"Sí, Capitán!" Magda and Santos bowed respectfully to him.

With that, Salazar placed a hand behind my back and started to stride forward, forcing me along with him.

Behind us, there was movement on the deck, the sound of Santos and Magda leaping smoothly over the side down to the waters below. The light splashes that followed confused me, so unlike the heavy splash Scarfield had when he'd fallen into the sea.

I tried to turn my head surreptitiously, hoping to catch a glimpse of them once they cleared the line of the Mary's hull, when Salazar's burning fingers moved from my back to close painfully over my wrist. I almost dropped my cloak at the suddenness of his burning touch, reminding me again of how different it was being touched by him, compared to Scarfield.

"Enough, Athena," he hissed. "That man is not worth even a look!"

I hardly had time to protest when he started to drag me up the steps, straight towards his cabin.

I risked throwing one last look over the side as I was dragged across the quarterdeck. Magda was walking on the surface of the sea on one side, while Cortez and Santos walked on the other, and the two pirates rowed.

Walking on the sea...

They were _walking_ on the _sea_!

I couldn't help my mouth dropping open in awe.

Before I noticed that Scarfield did not row. He lay in the front of the smallboat, a wet, crumpled heap, and from this distance I couldn't tell if he was even still alive.

"Come!" Salazar's rage was wild, his touch scorching as he pulled me through the door. "Come, Athena!"

He spun me into the cabin, and slammed the door shut behind him.  
  
  
  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPANISH TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> Despreciable cabrón - sickly bastard
> 
> ¿De verdad? - Really?


	20. More Confessions

I pivoted to face him, still clutching my cloak to my chest defensively.

"You nearly broke your promise!" He growled, his sword still tightly in his fist.

"You nearly broke yours!" I tried to stand my ground, stifling the impulse to back away from him.

He started towards me. "That cabrón would have taken you from La María! And you wouldn't have stopped him!"

"I'm sorry –" My heart started to beat rapidly, "It's not like I planned for that to happen!"

He drew in a hissing breath, towering over me. "Are you lying to me, Athena?"

"No!" I shook my head hurriedly.

He growled low in Spanish, and involuntarily, I took a step backwards; he reached out a hand as though to stop me, before clenching it instead.

"No?" He glowered at me. "Your concern for that – wretch, it makes me –!" He whipped his sword suddenly through the air in a sharp arc born of pure frustration.

Frightened, I quickly stepped back again, out of the range of his sword, and he immediately held it still in his fist, a slight look of chagrin crossing his face. I could see he was trying to calm himself, so I pushed my own panic down, keeping my voice reasonably calm, "I'm sorry. I was just – you were going to kill him!"

"He had his sword _at your throat_." He glared at me, seeming to struggle to hold himself back from coming closer, his sword half-raised again as though Scarfield were there in the cabin between us. "I should have snapped his neck, I should have let him drown, but like an _idiota_ I let him leave! And you still couldn't stop yourself from _looking at him_!"

I shivered involuntarily; but it wasn't his rage that was sending a hot, rippling shiver up my back. It was his other expressions, warring for supremacy, the tension in the cabin, of emotions unspoken but sharply present, like a suspended blade waiting to drop down; I sensed it, and did not want to meet his eyes.

"I do not understand you!" He thumped his sword so hard on the floorboards it made me jump, before muttering in a low voice. "I don't even understand myself!"

I closed my eyes, trying to overcome the panic being fuelled by the wild tension under his words. "I'm sorry – I didn't mean to –"

"And you apologise, again!" He growled in frustration, cutting my stumbling words short. "Why are you always sorry? No one else is!"

That was when the craziness of the situation really, truly hit me. Why _was_ I saying sorry? Here I was, hundreds of years in the past, trying to apologise to a living-dead Spanish Capitán, because I'd stopped him from murdering a sick and injured British Lieutenant… never in my weirdest dreams could I ever have thought up something so specific. Or so bizarre.

I forced myself to look back at him, to actually _look_ him in the eye, and even though my voice tremored, I made myself speak my mind.

"This killing's got to stop." I swallowed at the incomprehension on his face, and said, "Killing just leads to more killing, and more killing… and it's got to stop."

"Dios mío!" He laughed abruptly. "You sound just like the Sparrow!"

"Well, maybe he's right!" I said sharply.

"I don't need to hear it!" He scowled. "You _and_ the Sparrow telling me not to kill?!"

"He's trying to help you, and if you'd let me explain –"

"Help me? Every night since I killed him, all he does is _talktalktalk_! And now I must listen, and do what he says, and find him this Compass as well!" He stabbed his sword back in the direction of the wooden box Santos had left for him on the desk against the wall. I glanced at it, sitting neatly to the side of his maps and charts. "All for his help to break my Curse!"

"What?"

It was the first time he'd directly brought up his conversation with Sparrow again, and I momentarily forgot my panic and fear, curious to know what was so special about the Compass that Jack Sparrow wanted Capitán Salazar to find it.

"Sí, every night, as soon as the sun sets," he complained, not understanding my question. "Sparrow comes, and he does not shut up!" He struck his sword down on the floor, glaring at the scores it made in the wood. "Gracias a Dios, that he disappears at dawn!"

I glanced at the box on the desk, and then said, "So... Jack Sparrow asked for a particular Compass?"

The Capitán's eyes glinted at me. "In return for his advice, sí."

Wanting to know more, I said carefully, "Then, if his advice is to stop killing, don't you think –"

"Do you know how hard it was for me? Not to kill Scarfield?" He stepped abruptly closer, "If it were anyone else except you, I would not have hesitated!"

"C-Capitán," his closeness made me stutter, "I couldn't let you do it –"

"I had every reason to!"

"But –" An idea came to me, and I deliberately made an effort to speak rationally to him, "You've killed all these years, and it's never helped you. It's never changed anything for you." I thought again about what Jack Sparrow had said to me, about how the most human thing in the world was to care. "So – maybe it's time to do things differently! Maybe mercy –" He snarled at the word, and I quickly amended, "I mean, not killing someone _is_ better, because it might be the one thing that helps break your Curse!"

"Break my Curse?" His lips twisted into an incredulous smile. "You think that just feeling merciful is going to break my Curse? Even Sparrow says it will take more than that!"

"But you showed mercy to Scarfield," I said, "You did it even though you didn't want to. Mercy is an action, it's not something you feel –"

His hand suddenly darted out and wrapped around the back of my neck, pulling me in close; my cloak slipped out of my hands and became wedged between us, as his fingers slid up through my hair. I gasped at him, my hands pushing against his chest, off-balance and nervous at how quickly he'd drawn me in.

"Merciful Bella Muerte!" He said mockingly, his eyes roving over my face. "You should ask Lesaro about mercy. He would tell you that mercy is _only_ because you feel. Mercy comes because you are moved to have compassion! That is what distinguishes mercy from... simply seeing the opportunity for an advantage." His fingers spread up, cupping the back of my head. He parted his lips, as though carefully considering his next words, before saying, in a different voice, "Do you know the real reason why I didn't kill Lieutenant Scarfield just now?"

Mutely, I shook my head once.

The heat of his fingers through my hair again was still not something I was used to, and I was instantly anxious at the changing colour of his eyes: that rich ochre colour shot through with coffee, that I'd seen once before, when he'd first questioned me here in his cabin. When he spoke, his voice was a dark, seductive rumble.

"Can't you guess?" His tilted his head. "You are usually so wise, Athena. Can't you imagine my reason…?"

The undercurrent of his voice, the look in his eyes, made my panic skyrocket, the press of his chest against my hands was too much, and I couldn't bear to hear any more. I shoved him away harder than I meant to, the cloak tumbled down over my feet. I felt my hair tearing away through his clenched knuckles as I stumbled backwards from him, clumsily kicking away the cloak that had wrapped itself around my ankles.

"Athena, Athena, always so afraid of feelings," the corners of his mouth lifted in mockery as he let the strands of hair in his fist – hair that looked like Lady Stanhope's to me, but that I knew looked like the colour of my real hair to him – fall gently to the floorboards.

"It's not – feelings!" I said desperately, though I knew it was a complete lie. "You only care about the future, it's all you want from me –"

"Athena. No more avoiding." His gaze was predatory as he stalked towards me. "It is time for the truth to be discussed between us!"

"I promised I'd tell you what I knew!" I nearly tripped again in my haste to get to the upper level of his cabin, away from him.

"No, no, no," he was amused, "I have already told you, it is not only your promises to tell me the future that I am interested in!"

I quickly moved around the long table to try and put it between him and me. "I promised I wouldn't escape! And I didn't!"

He growled again at that, "Stay still, Athena!"

He moved towards me, and I skirted to the other side of a chair.

"I am not going to harm you!" He tried to follow me around the table, pricking the air impatiently with his sword. "Stop running from me!"

I held a hand up. "Then stay where you are!"

He stood still. I waited to see if he would move again, but to my surprise he stayed where he was.

"I won't move," he looked at me from where he was, at the opposite end of the table, "Just let us speak truthfully with one another."

"No!" My scalp still stung from the strands that had been pulled away when I'd pushed him back, and I rubbed at it in annoyance as I frowned at him. "I'm not talking about anything while you're still holding your sword!"

He tilted his head.

"I thought you liked my sword?" He asked innocently.

"What?"

"My sword, Athena. You were so eager to take it in your hand before."

I frowned. For a moment, it sounded so much like he was... but that was impossible.

I kept my distance, moving again around the table, careful to give him no advantage. "No, I just need you to put it away."

"But you could take it again if you like, Athena," his voice took on a distinctly sly and sultry tone, "You could hold it, with both hands – if you wish..."

Now _that_ made me stop moving.

"Are you –" I hesitated. He raised his eyebrows. He could not possibly, I thought, be alluding to - what it sounded like he was alluding to...? No. Absolutely not. I took the high ground, and said, "What _are_ you saying?"

"About my sword?" He was sliding around the edge of the table towards me, but I was still too busy puzzling over his meaning to notice straight away. "Only that I would enjoy letting you have it."

I stared at him, my mouth suddenly very dry. "What."

"I'd love to let you have my sword," he purred, "But you must ask very nicely…"

It was nearly too late before I realised he was very close to me.

Shaking myself into action, I slid over the top of the table to the other side, in a move that had Lady Stanhope's body complaining sharply, and I winced from the twinge in one hip.

"I wish," I panted from the effort of having to move so fast, "I could trust you!"

"You should trust me!" All his previous sly amusement left him at once, and he rapped his sword angrily on the table's surface, leaving a long dent in the woodgrain.

"You don't exactly make it easy for me to trust you!"

"You talk to me about trust?" He glared. "You promised you wouldn't escape, and then at the first opportunity you run from me –"

"I wasn't trying to escape!"

He sneered in disgust. "You deliberately put yourself in his hands! _Him_!"

"I had no idea he was going to threaten to kill me!" I cried.

"Because you are too naive!" He snapped. "He would have cut your throat!"

Now that set my hackles up. If he was going to accuse me of being naive, I was certainly going to set the record straight.

"Have you forgotten? You almost did the same to me!"

He growled in warning. "You are very close, Athena, to –"

I folded my arms, unwilling to let myself be frightened into submission. "You held your sword at my throat too!"

"And not once have you thanked me for sparing you! Over and over, I _have prevented your death!_ " He snarled. "And yet you still dare to interfere! Next time, Athena, I will not let you stop me from killing –"

"Capitán Salazar, I will not let you kill another person!"

He passed right through the wooden table, so fast I froze in shock – and then it was too late, for he had grasped my shoulder with one hand, and was forcing me back, and I couldn't stop him. I lost my footing and slammed directly into the wall behind me, as he levelled his sword right at my head with his other hand.

I didn't speak. I couldn't. I was too terrified.

He drew the sword back, I squeezed my eyes shut, and then –

_Thunk._

I snapped my eyes open at the loud noise.

He had buried the blade into the wall next to my head.

Around us, the Silent Mary creaked plaintively.

"I nearly lost you –" he clenched his teeth together, biting down on the rest of the words he was going to say. When he spoke again, it was with chilling precision. "You were so quick to assume I would break my promise, Athena."

I tried to stuff my panic down, wrestling my fright at the multiple emotions that thickened the air between us, but so much had already cracked open in the last few seconds that I could feel my control slipping away. "I don't –"

"The truth now!" He hissed. "You think I lack honour? Is that why you must shout at me, and tell me what I must do?"

I was tired of arguing. I was tired of fighting my panic. I was tired of having to watch so much of what I said to him, and my exhaustion made me reckless; in spite of my fear, or maybe because of it, I hissed back, "Yes!"

He went completely still. I couldn't tell if I had shocked him, or angered him, because his face went completely blank. When he spoke, his words were devoid of heat. "You think I cannot be trusted."

"I think you enjoy hurting people!" My breathing was ragged; the rush of finally just letting loose was exhilarating. "I think you enjoy hurting people and watching them suffer! I think you made Scarfield fight just to be cruel! Because that's the only way you know how to be happy!"

I was sure he was going to fly into a rage again, but he didn't. He appeared very calm. He drew in a rasping breath, staring at me with burning eyes. "And what else do you think, Athena?"

"I think you're not going to keep any of your promises!" I felt so on edge, but the walls had broken now, the torrent had started and I didn't want to stop. "That's why your men went with them! They could kill them before they're even halfway there and I'd never know!"

"So I am a liar as well?" He said, in an even more colourless tone than before. "Am I worse than your precious Lieutenant Scarfield?"

I could have stopped. I _should_ have stopped. But I was too angry. Angry at being afraid, angry at always feeling a bare inch from death, angry at always having to think of what _he_ might be thinking, because it meant life and death for every human onboard, when all I wanted to do was go home, go back to my own body, and not have to face another life or death situation ever again.

"I think you're just as bad!" I snapped. "I'm sick of your cruel games, I'm sick of your – your stupid pretense! You want me to think you care about sparing my life, but you don't! You just care about yourself! You just want your stupid Curse broken, so you can go back to your stupid country –" He growled in warning, but I was past caring, "And make everything exactly how _you_ want it! And you're just going to use me to do it!"

I slumped, as the absurd reality of what I was saying hit me with fresh defeat. I had no hope of going home. None. The future was never going to be the same, but it didn't matter because I was never going to return to see it. Like Eleni said, I was stuck in this body, which meant I was stuck in this time, until I died.

"I have no choice, do I." I said in a small voice, "I just have to keep playing your games. Because I do care about other people." I lifted my eyes to him, feeling utterly beaten. "But at least I don't have to lie and pretend that I care. Like you."

Salazar's gaze had dropped to my lips, as though mesmerised by the unstoppable tumble of words that had been leaving my mouth, but at those last few he flicked his eyes back up to meet mine.

"You think I am only playing games with you?" He asked softly. "You think... I am pretending... to care?"

There was a soft tap at the cabin door.

"Capitán?" Officer Moss' voice came hesitantly through the door. "I have brought water. For the Señorita?"  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPANISH TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> Dios Mío – My God
> 
> Gracias a Dios – Thank God


	21. The Slide Down

_Salazar's gaze had dropped to my lips, as though mesmerised by the unstoppable tumble of words that had been leaving my mouth, but at those last few he flicked his eyes back up to meet mine._

_"You think I am only playing games with you?" He asked softly. "You think... I am pretending... to care?"_

_There was a soft tap at the cabin door._

_"Capitán?" Officer Moss' voice came hesitantly through the door. "I have brought water. For the Señorita?"_

 

* * *

 

Whatever relief I might have felt at Moss' timely interruption was short-lived; because I could see, by the hard set of Capitán Salazar's mouth, and the way his eyes flared, that he had no intention of letting anything distract him.

"Do not be so wilfully obtuse, Athena. I do not play games." He leaned in, speaking in a low voice so it wouldn't carry through the cabin door to Moss. "But now, you are tempting me. Because if I did begin to play games," he lifted his eyebrows, lips curling slightly in amusement, "You would find I have more experience than you." I saw the deliberate, calculated way he let his eyes drop to my lips again, his gaze consciously lingering this time, before he murmured, "Is that what you want?"

The way he'd stressed that word,  _experience_ , hinted at darker, far more intimate things than I'd ever let myself imagine before; things that pierced through my resistance to settle insidiously into my brain. Things like how it had felt when he'd spread his fingers through my hair after brushing it. Like the low rumble of his voice in my ear, when I'd woken from the Nightmare and gratefully buried my face in his scent. Like the way his eyes promised more, exactly Iike they did now: promising the slide of skin on skin, hot touches coupled with cool bed sheets and soft moonlight...

"Do you want to play, Athena…?" he watched my reactions, seeming to enjoy my inability to speak.

His words evoked even more complicated feelings than our heated negotiations about Lieutenant Scarfield's release had. The burning tumult that his voice alone was able to create inside me forced out any sense I'd had of feeling utterly beaten and defeated; but in their place were new feelings, and I wasn't sure how to navigate them. Alarmed, I hurriedly tried to close the subject.

"N-no," my mouth was so dry, I could barely push the words out. "No, I don't want to play games."

He tilted his head to one side. "Are you sure? I know many games, Athena. Perhaps I could find one to play that you like?"

"Capitán, are you there?" Moss called out again, a distinct note of genuine concern colouring his voice; followed by a louder tap that made me glance involuntarily towards the door. "Is everything – alright?"

I hoped against hope that Moss might just break whatever etiquette was holding him back and simply open the cabin door, but Salazar seemed to know already what I was thinking, for he growled, "I will not let him open that door, Athena, until you answer me!"

My face was still turned towards the door, when I felt something hot against my cheek. It was him. His face must have been brushing against mine, and when I realised this, I froze, knowing that if I turned and looked at him now, he'd be close enough to –

Rough wood grated my back as I flattened against the wall. Salazar's sword was buried in the wood on one side, blocking escape, but I still had a clear path to the cabin door on the other. He saw the direction I was looking in, and pushed the palm of one hand flat against the wall, blocking my direct line of sight towards the door, trapping me completely.

"Well, Athena? Are we playing a game now?"

"No, Capitán." I was unable to meet his eyes.

"No?" He whispered mockingly. "But you accuse me of playing games?" He took a deep, rasping breath in. "Look at me, Athena."

Reluctantly, I did. And his eyes – both impatiently demanding, but also smugly satisfied that I couldn't move anywhere – not without risking more physical contact – made my stomach clench anxiously.

"Capitán Salazar?" Moss knocked openly and loudly now. I heard the sound of the door latch rattling, as he started to open the door. "Por favor, is Señorita Athena –?"

Salazar shook his head in frustration. "¡Antonio! ¡Cierra la puerta!" He pinned me with a hard stare, as if daring me to say anything to contradict him, before ordering Moss, "Wait outside!"

"Sí, sí, Capitán," Moss closed the door hurriedly. "I will wait outside..."

I glanced over Capitán Salazar's arm as the door shut. I could hear Moss shifting uncertainly on the floorboards outside the cabin as he waited for permission to enter again. For a fleeting moment, I really considered bolting under the Capitán's arm, making a run for the door, certain that if I could at least reach it and fling it open, then I might be able to place Moss between myself and the Capitán. Maybe. But even if I could make it – I knew it would not be without a physical struggle. Which, in Lady Stanhope's body, I'd be sure to lose.

Capitán Salazar stiffened, as if he'd guessed that I wanted to run, and squeezed my cheek between his thumb and his knuckles, forcing me to look back at him.

"I am going to speak now, Athena, and you will listen to me. You have said things to me that I cannot let stand –" he let go of my cheek to tap his finger on my lips, "You have called me a liar. If it were anyone else, I would kill them for saying that."

He pressed hard on my lips, and involuntarily I made a small, choked sound. He dropped his gaze, and the intensity of his look as he studied the dent his finger must have been making on my lips made tingles dance up my spine. My thinking was starting to cloud from the combined heat of his touch and how close he was standing; I was too overcome to do anything except try to stay perfectly still.

He lifted his finger, smoothing it gently over my bottom lip, watching as he did so, before whispering, "You have accused me of pretending, Athena, pretending to care, and I do not –" he stopped to swallow, "I will not allow that." He looked back up at me, his eyes glittering with something I did not recognise. "Or perhaps... you need a lesson? Perhaps, you need to see what it is like if no one cared about you?"

His words cut sharply through the fog his touch had created, and I blinked at his threat. It was a subtle threat, but a threat nevertheless. When I'd been sitting at Magda's desk, when he'd brushed my hair, he'd tried to lull me into being placid, with the idea of being cared for, of having 'nice' things – things to make my so-called stay with him 'comfortable', to make me forget that I was actually his prisoner.

He was watching me now with complacence, and I knew he was expecting me to cave out of fear. He expected me to say that I wanted to be cared for. His satisfied smile told me that he really thought I'd be scared of being treated differently, of being treated like a real prisoner, and that I'd plead with him not to take away the few 'comforts' I'd had.

The newfound release I'd felt before, from telling him exactly what I thought, surged back again; and I found myself flicking my face away from the pressure of his finger, to meet his eyes with fresh determination.

"If no one cared about me?" I tried to pretend I wasn't afraid at the slow, predatory way he blinked at me. I forced out a short, dry laugh, deliberately trying to break the intimacy of his mood, and said, "Would it make any difference? Because I don't think it would. I don't think you know how to care, Capitán Salazar."

Unexpectedly, he leaned back. And then he pulled his sword out of the wall in one clean move, and stepped away.

"Perhaps." He looked at me without expression, "But perhaps, Señorita, it is not me you should find fault with. It is you. You lie to yourself. You won't speak about feelings. You insult me rather than face the truth. You run from me. You refuse to believe what is completely obvious to every one of my men!" His mouth set in a grim line, and he flicked his sword around the cabin in a wide gesture. "Even La María knows your importance! She never,  _never_  listens to anyone except me. Until today. Because she knows. She knows, just as I do –" He closed his mouth suddenly, and his eyes flared. "But if the Señorita cannot tell the difference between caring and not caring… está bien."

His tone of voice made me suddenly very unsure. There was a hint of the same tone that he'd used whenever he addressed Scarfield, and it filled me with foreboding.

"You asked me to tell you about the future," I said. "I agreed! You never said anything about – about –" I faltered, feeling so out of my depth for a moment I didn't even know how to continue.

"Still can't say it, can you, Athena?" He mocked.

"I'll tell you everything I know about Spain, everything I remember –"

"And what use is your knowledge when I am still Cursed!" He struck a heel against the floorboards restlessly. "Might as well play me a hornpipe, than waste your time telling me what you know about the future!"

"But you said you wanted to know!"

"How can I start to think about the future," he was growing hoarse with restrained frustration, "When you refuse to help me break my Curse!"

I stared at him. "What."

"You know what Sparrow said," he sharply angled his sword up in a tight grip as he hissed the pirate's name, "How I must become human again! The Power of the Trident will only leave when I am human, and then the Curse can be broken for the rest of my men!"

"Yes, he said the same to me!" I tried to follow this abrupt turn in conversation, nervously eying the way he flicked his sword loosely in his hand as I spoke, "He said that being human was simply learning to care about things –"

"Sí, sí, sí!" He paced irritably away. "I know what he said!" He started to stalk up and down the cabin, hair flying wildly around his shoulders, sword stabbing down, a sharp rap with every step. "Sparrow! To think, that I, Capitán Armando Salazar, must do as Sparrow says!  _Sparrow_ , of all people!" He stopped short, sullenly leaning on his sword, his back turned to me. "But he says I must learn to care. I must learn to care for a human. I must care in a way that – that a human is able to accept my care. Welcome my care." He looked at me, eyes glowing. "Athena – he said  _you_  must accept my care!"

I blinked.

"He – said  _what_!" I could feel my eyebrows soaring up to my hairline as I shook my head, completely taken aback, unable to even begin to fathom what he'd just said.

"Sí, he said it had to be you, Athena!" He repeated impatiently.

I sputtered, "Me? I – what –"

He waved his hand at me and continued pacing.

"I have tried, Athena," he shook his head, frustrated. "I have tried, but you are so stubborn, and so afraid, and always, you are refusing! You would sooner believe I am a liar than believe I am –" He snapped his teeth shut in a snarl. "You are impossible!"

"You've tried?" I was incredulous. "You can't talk to me without trying to threaten me! Or threaten one of the prisoners! And if you're not threatening to kill someone  – you're in my space all the time, and you're touching me, and – and you're –"

I felt my cheeks heating as his smile suddenly became sly. It was a smile I was starting to recognise, because it always went before seductively spoken insinuations, hinting at things I tried to resist thinking about with him – but I was determined not to be thrown this time.

"Sí?" He stepped towards me. "I am – what?"

"You're always implying other things!" I managed to sound more confident than I felt.

He stepped closer again. "What things, Athena?"

I refused to rise to his bait, refused to be distracted by that smile of his, steadfastly going on with what I had to say.

"Just because Sparrow has this stupid idea, and tells you about it, you believe him? You think it's suddenly important for me to say that you –"

He had come closer while I was talking, and I started to feel a burn already, as if his fingertips were already brushing over my skin.

"To – to…"

"Is it so hard to say?" He stepped closer again, and I found it hard to concentrate. "Can't you even admit it?"

"It's just words!" In my confusion, I found myself snapping at him. "Saying it won't change anything for you!"

His smile took on that darker, seductive curve, "True. And I want more than your words. But for now, I will settle for hearing you say it!"

"You just want me to – say that you –" I swallowed, and forced it out, "That you care for me?"

"Ah, she admits it!"

He was close enough now that in another step, he would be able to reach out and touch me for real. But I wasn't having it. I held my hand up, trying to keep him from coming any closer.

"Stay where you are –"

"Por favor," his chest pressed against my hand. "Say it again, Athena, I want to watch –"

"But you don't care, you can't care!" I blurted out. "You said it yourself, the only thing you want is for your curse to be broken! You'll never care about anyone, except yourself!"

A terrible silence fell between us.

His amused expression faded completely, and he didn't say anything.

Just then, there was another knock on the door; but it wasn't Officer Moss this time.

"Capitán, estoy aquí para tomar - al prisionero." It was a different voice, and I thought I recognised the slightly deeper, more cultured tones.

Capitán Salazar's face became a mask, and he said quietly, "I will give you a choice, Athena. You will either remain here, in my cabin, and learn to accept my care; or you can be a prisoner, like all the rest. If you choose to be a prisoner, Athena, you will not see me. You will have no comforts, and no one will care."

He didn't wait for me to answer. He simply turned and strode away towards the door.

I slumped back against the wall, feeling an unexpected wave of tiredness wash over me. I had just told him exactly what I'd thought of him, and he hadn't killed me for it, but the outpouring of so much emotion had been draining – and the choice he had just given me sat on my overtaxed brain like a heavy oilslick.

"Officer Magda." Capitán Salazar opened the cabin door wide. "Timely, as always."

Officer Magda stood on the threshold, a full head and shoulders taller than Moss, and nodded respectfully at Salazar. "Shall I escort the prisoner to their new quarters?"

"Por favor, Capitán, but Señorita Athena needs water," I heard Moss interject swiftly. "She needs to drink –"

"She had water brought earlier." Magda's cool voice cut over him. "She should have no further need."

"A cupful!" Moss retorted. "She needs more than a cupful of water to live! As a doctor, you would know this, you would know what the Señorita needs –"

"Sí, I am a doctor, Antonio, not her maid!"

"¡Suficiente!" Salazar hissed. "Give her water, and stop your bickering!" He turned and strode back towards the table, leaving the door open for the officers to enter.

Officer Magda bowed with mocking deference to the younger officer, and allowed Moss to pass through first, bearing both a pitcher and a silver goblet on a tray.

As he stepped through the door, I saw Moss glance around the cabin until his eyes fell on me, worry on his grey face. I saw the way he quickly looked me up and down, as if checking for physical wounds, and when he saw there were none, his relief was clear.

"I brought you more water to drink, Señorita, just as I promised I would." Moss said gently. "I knew you were waiting for Officer Magda to come, but –"

"Antonio! Take the water to the table." Salazar snapped over his shoulder.

Magda had silently glided in while Moss had been talking, taking up a respectful position close to the door. His gaze fell on me, his whole demeanour one of cool superiority, and I hurriedly looked away, feeling his veiled dislike even from this distance away.

Moss continued on towards the table with the tray with one more side glance at me. I realised he must have been thinking the worst had happened. With all the thumping and shouting that the Capitán and I had been doing here in his cabin earlier, and then the relative silence afterwards, he must have thought I'd been in the process of being murdered. Or had already been murdered. And his Capitán was perhaps disposing of my body.

In all honesty, before they'd come, I'd been wondering in the back of my mind if I  _was_  going to be murdered. Now, I just felt exhausted. But it was more than a physical tiredness: I was also emotionally, and mentally, spent.

Worse than the tiredness though, was the one obstinate fact that now refused to let go: the fact that there was no going back home. It had been persistently creeping up on me ever since I woke up here. And now I had to face the cold, hard truth.

I was never going back.

I was never going home.

Even if Capitán Salazar's Curse was broken. Even if the power of the Trident came out of him, and went into something else. Even if he then was able to break whatever thing that power went into, so that they could all be human again, it still wouldn't send me home. And even if he released all the prisoners as he'd promised, and sailed away from St Martin without a fight, after everything that had just happened I couldn't see him ever allowing me the chance to figure out a way to return to my own time. If there even was a way.

I thought hopelessly of Eleni, and her knife, that Capitán Salazar now carried in his coat. The knife that she promised would only have to touch my blood, and then the magical spell she'd tried to perform back on the Proserpine would resolve, and reverse the body swap between Lady Stanhope and I.

I still wasn't completely sure I could trust Eleni. But in the end, I knew there was really only one way to find out. I would have to somehow get that knife off of the Capitán, and use it to cut myself. I had no idea how I would even get a chance to do it. The thought of trying to sneak it out of Capitán Salazar's coat seemed impossible. But even if I somehow managed it, and got hold of the knife, the whole idea of what I'd have to do afterwards made me squeamish. I wrapped my arms around myself at the thought of having to deliberately cut through skin to make blood flow; it made me nauseous.

"Señorita?" Moss stood in front of me, holding out the goblet. "Water?"

Behind him, Salazar stood by the table, watching me darkly. A quick glance at Magda, looking annoyed and faintly bored, made me realise that perhaps Moss had been trying to get my attention more than once. I felt self-conscious, to be the object of all three men's gaze, but I took the goblet anyway.

"Thank you," I said.

He nodded, but I noticed he did not hurry to shift from his position, choosing to remain standing between the Capitán and myself. Almost as if he was deliberately placing himself there for my protection. He nodded again at me, encouraging me to drink, so I did. To my surprise, the water was fresher than the last I'd tasted; I hadn't realised I was so parched. The cool feel of it on my tongue was heaven, and I leaned into the wall behind me, closing my eyes as I drank. I was unable to help making a quiet moan of appreciation, enjoying the feel of it running down my throat.

Just as I tipped the last of it into my mouth, holding it there for a moment, I heard a small snort, and looked up. Magda was shaking his head slightly in derision, as if I had done something wrong. I saw Moss was looking away from me, as if he'd accidentally walked in on something incredibly private. But while he was averting his eyes, and Magda was shooting me a look of contempt, Capitán Salazar was staring directly at me, his eyes an even brighter shade of amber than before, his posture tense.

Aware of the strange tension in the cabin, I nervously swallowed my mouthful.

"What's wrong?" I brushed my fingers across my lips, worried that I'd unwittingly committed some breach of 1700s etiquette. "Did I do something wrong?"

Magda snorted again, his lips stretching into a thin smile of disbelief, but it was Capitán Salazar who spoke.

"Do you – always drink like that?" His voice sounded strained, as if he was trying to be coolly civil, but finding it very hard to be.

"Like what?" I was confused. "I was just thirsty…"

Glancing between the two officers and the Capitán, I realised I'd probably looked just like a greedy camel, drinking so fast in front of them. I gripped the cup defensively, feeling more than a little embarrassed; I knew it would have been a long time since Capitán Salazar had seen someone be thirsty at all, let alone need to drink water in his presence.

"There is – more, Señorita," Moss said politely. "I can refill it for you, if you like?"

"No." Salazar flicked his sword at the pitcher resting on the table. "The Señorita can serve herself."

Moss shot me an apologetic glance, as he answered, "Sí, Capitan. May I bring some food for the Señorita here?"

Capitán Salazar paused.

"No," he said. "Officer Magda will decide – when the Señorita has her meals."

Officer Magda's smirk at Moss made the younger officer stiffen, but in front of his Capitán, I could see he would not start bickering with him again. Instead, he turned to me with an apologetic look, and opened his mouth as though he were about to say something more to me, reassure me perhaps, or tell me not to worry, when Salazar growled, "Go, both of you, wait on the quarterdeck. I will tell you when to return."

Both of them bowed and left the cabin.

Being alone with the Capitán again made me feel uncertain. I didn't move, still holding my empty goblet in my hand, watching him from where I stood against the wall. He watched me back, but I could not tell what he was thinking; only that he  _was_  thinking. I kept silent, waiting to see what he would say. Finally he glanced down at the goblet I still held in my hand, and nodded at the pitcher. "You may have more."

I didn't move. I wasn't sure, after the last few minutes, if he wouldn't try and trap me against the wall again.

"Come, Athena," he snapped impatiently.

I straightened, and took a cautious step towards the table.

He did not move, only stood there watching.

I took a deep breath, and walked the rest of the way to where the pitcher rested on the table. I nervously poured myself more water, well aware that he was still watching my every move. I felt my face burning almost from the strength of his attention on me. It was a miracle I didn't spill anything. I glanced at him once before I took a mouthful of water. He was watching with avid anticipation, his lips parted, his eyes dilated. Too shy to enjoy it like I had the first time, I drank it hurriedly. When I put the cup down next to the pitcher, I saw a look of discontent cross his face, as if he was disappointed by how quickly I had finished. He didn't speak.

I was uncomfortable at the silence; awkwardly, I cleared my throat. "Thank you," I said. "For letting me drink."

He nodded, before saying coolly, "You judge me harshly Athena. But, perhaps…" he turned away, and started to walk slowly around the table, "You are the kind of woman who is used to getting her own way."

Getting my own way? I shook my head, confused, his statement so out of left field that it threw me, and I couldn't think of how to properly respond. "I've never really been that kind of –"

"No?" He circled around the table. "And yet you tell me what to do, and berate me when I displease you, and say I am dishonourable, and a liar." He didn't give me time to respond, but went on, his steps slow and measured, "Perhaps you are used to everything being easy in your life. I think you must live in a fairytale land, no? You must have had a very easy life. Perhaps in your time, where you have come from, you have not experienced the hardships my men and I have." He had started to come back around the table towards me, not stopping until he was right behind me. "Perhaps, the future is not as bad as you have told me. Perhaps... you have never had to face anything bad."

I had never been accused like this before. I turned to face him with coolness of my own. "What makes you think that?"

"Because you talk so much about mercy, and compassion, and saving lives." He grimaced. "You had your heart broken, that I can allow." He tilted his head in slight acknowledgement. "But that is nothing, compared to what my life has been like. I begin to think, that perhaps you really have been living the life of a princess by comparison."

"Do you think, because of what you've been through, that no one else has had it hard?" I couldn't believe him. "You want to compare notes? You can't measure another person's pain. What you've been through - well, yes. It's not something I expect I'd ever be able to understand - but it doesn't make you qualified to judge me!"

"Fine words!" He sneered, "I would be impressed, but your words mean nothing! You're a virgin princess, too childish to have a lover, too sheltered to even understand the world of men! You speak boldly out on the deck as if you are one of us men, but you are not!"

Women fighting for equal rights in the twentieth century would just about have turned in their graves at his arrogance, and I felt I owed it to them to say what I did next.

"No, I'm not one of you," I snapped, my anger rising, "But I am equal to –"

"You are not equal to me!" He snarled. "I am the Capitán! You are my prisoner! Might as well say a dove is equal to a bull!"

"I am exactly equal to you! and I may not be a Capitán, but my thoughts are just as important as yours -"

"Your thoughts! Sí, you've made it very clear what your thoughts are of me!" He was close, but he kept his hands fisted at his sides, as if struggling not to touch me. "You've called me a dishonourable liar!"

I was speechless, unable to even know where to begin to answer him. My words caught in my throat as I shook my head again, trying to marshal my thoughts.

"I do not need to hear you protest," he turned away abruptly. "Perhaps, if you could see what I have seen, you would not have interfered with me! You would not have stopped Lieutenant Scarfield's death. And you would not question my honour, or say that I do not care, or accuse me of –" his voice suddenly became very thick and he hunched for a moment. "– of playing games."

That was when I realised. I'd hurt him. What I'd said to him, before Moss had knocked on the door, had actually hurt him, and I felt a rush of chagrin at myself, and compassion for him. "Capitán…"

His shoulders stiffened, and he straightened.

"No," he said abruptly. "I will not listen to you anymore! You think I am just as bad as Scarfield?" He wouldn't turn to look at me, only tilting his head slightly to address me over his shoulder, as if I wasn't worthy of his time. "That I am only using you to break my curse? Bien." He sheathed his sword angrily, and started to stride towards the cabin door. "You want to be a prisoner so badly, then Officer Magda will escort you to your cell!"

My cell. The word startled me. I was to be put back in a  _cell_?

"Wait!"

He whirled about, hair rippling out behind him, and eyed me one more time. "You wish to stay?"

"When I said you – that you don't care," I paused. "I was telling you the truth."

"You think it is the truth." He sneered. "But only because it suits you to think so!"

"Well, since you threatened to kill people if I didn't tell the truth -"

"I think you are too afraid to see it!" His eyes flicked over my face, resting for a second on my hair, and he bit his lip. "One more chance, Athena. Admit that I care for you. And I will let you stay."

"I told you the truth," I said quietly. "Like you said I always had to. I'm sorry it – upset you. But it doesn't… I'm sorry, Capitán, it doesn't change the fact that it's – true."

He deliberately left the cabin through the door, taking the opportunity to slam it shut forcefully behind him.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Piratesangel, Blukoffee and Iridogorgia for proofreading parts of this chapter, and for their feedback!
> 
>  
> 
> SPANISH TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> ¡Cierra la puerta! – Close the door!
> 
> Capitán, estoy aquí para tomar – al prisionero. – Captain, I am here to take – the prisoner.
> 
> ¡Suficiente! – Enough!


	22. The Reflection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Athena reflects on her conversation with Capitán Salazar, and (occasionally) argues with herself, before Officer Miguel Magda arrives to take her to a cell…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special Thanks to Blukoffee, Piratesangel and Iridogorgia for proofreading parts of this chapter, and for their feedback, which helped immensely. Special Mention to E for her great suggestions, that led to better clarifications of Officer Magda's legs and eyes. Also, for listening to me 'vocalise' Athena's development.
> 
> AUTHOR'S DISCLAIMER: I headcanon that Miguel Magda is NOT a cinnamon roll. Also, I adore him. 
> 
> Some (small) Spanish phrases in this chapter, translations at end.

I was left alone in the cabin after he went, but I could not stay still. Adrenalin had surged through me during Capitán Salazar's accusations, and even though I'd tried to be as calm as possible when I told him I was only speaking the truth, my heart had been beating wildly and I'd been trying very hard to control my breathing.

As the slam of the door reverberated around the walls, answered by an echoing creak of reproach from the ship herself, I found myself wishing I had the boldness to follow him out. Because it was only now, after he'd gone, that I was already thinking of how I might have told him things… a little differently. Maybe, with a little more kindness. But I didn't have it in me to follow him. I didn't think I would be able to face him, not right now. I had only just managed to keep myself from having another panic attack or worse, getting uncontrollably angry at him. I could have endangered everyone's lives if I'd lost my temper. So instead, I paced around, letting my thoughts fly in a million different directions. I turned over every word he'd said to me, replayed every expression.

I stopped when I saw my cloak, still heaped on the floor; halfway between the door and the table. I remembered when I'd dropped it. It had been after he'd slid his fingers through my hair, asking me, _Do you know the real reason why I didn't kill Lieutenant Scarfield just now?_

He had been trying to tell me he'd spared Scarfield because he cared for me. Even now, I couldn't help shaking my head at the idea. Ever since his secret conversation with Sparrow, he'd tried to make an effort. But it was all a manipulation.

Slowly, I picked the cloak up off the floor, absently folding it in my arms. I remembered the brush of his fingers over my collarbone, as he'd tied my cloak strings. He had made sure to cover me before we'd gone back out on the deck. Insisted on pulling the hood over my hair. I remembered how he'd looked at me, when I'd tried to get him to stop choking Scarfield – when he'd turned and seen I wasn't wearing the cloak anymore. I'd wriggled out of it to get past Magda, to try and stop him, but it was Salazar's expression that I remembered now. Distracted by my hair, and _offended_ – not just because I was trying to stop him, but also because I'd cast the cloak off. Especially since he'd been the one to put it on me.

I shook my head again, frustrated. Capitán Salazar was a man who had been used to getting his own way for too long. He only had to order his men to do something, and no matter what it was, it would be done without argument. No wonder he was constantly aggravated by me. _Offended_. By me. I turned the last few minutes between us over again in my mind; and the more I did, the more frustrated I became. I didn't like being judged so bluntly by him. A 'princess', he'd called me, 'living in a fairytale'. _A princess_! I started to stalk back and forth alongside the table, fuming. _If only he knew!_ My life had been the opposite of that. I had barely told him anything, he knew very little about me, but he'd still decided he could judge me!

In a burst of anger, I flung the cloak across the table, feeling childish satisfaction when it slid all the way to the other end and fell onto the floor.

I decided then and there I was definitely _not_ going to go after him. I would _not_ plead with him. I'd already told him the truth enough. If he couldn't handle it, then tough. I wasn't going to try to tell him in a 'nicer' way. Or say sorry. He'd told me I said sorry too much anyway. Besides, even if I did try, I'd probably just end up accidentally saying even more painful things to him in my frustration, and then I'd really, _really_ regret it.

But after a few minutes of pacing around again, I remembered that he'd seemed… a little upset. Okay, a lot upset. He'd been hurt. He might have said what he did to me just out of frustration himself. Just like I'd said some things to him out of frustration.

The more I walked the adrenalin off, the more I couldn't help wondering… if he was right.

 _Had_ my life been easy?

Maybe.

Maybe, from his point of view… it had.

After a terrible death, Capitán Salazar had been forced to exist in a body that was half dead and half ghost.

I had been through some things in my life I'd rather forget, but all of it still paled in comparison to him.

So perhaps…

I started to walk slower as the unpleasant thought occurred to me.

Perhaps, there was some truth to his accusations.

I _did_ want everyone to live. I did want a happily ever after for everyone. Did that make me like a fairytale princess? Did it make me childish? To want everyone and everything to be happy?

I stopped completely again, and stood still, studying the floor.

Beneath my feet was a deep groove he'd stabbed into the wooden boards in his rage, when he'd first flung me into the cabin and slammed the door shut. I had been frightened by his intensity, but I'd also felt sorry for being the cause of so much trouble. If I hadn't been convinced that he would run me through at the start, I might have tried to step forward, might have tried to calm him down. But he'd been too angry, his voice too sharp, his eyes burning too brightly, and I'd backed away instead. And then he'd practically chased me around the table, and then he'd –

I tried not to think of how it had felt, pressed between him and the wall.

Now was not the time or the place, to be thinking about things like that.

 _But you secretly liked it_ , a long dormant voice spoke up.

"Don't start," I muttered to myself.

The voice became sly. _But you liked it when he touched your lip –_

 _I did not!_ I shook my head in annoyance at myself. _I thought he was going to put his sword through my head –_

_Uh huh, but did you really think that, or were you just thinking of his other sword –_

_Absolutely not!_ I strode away again, towards the far windows. It had been extremely uncomfortable, being trapped like that, and sometimes I didn't even know why he always had to be so close to me –

_You do know. You know why he comes close to you. He wants to touch you because he likes you, because he wants to –_

"Ugh!" I snapped. "Shut _up_!"

I stopped at the windows in irritation, and stood there for a few minutes, looking out through the old, uneven glass.

The day was overcast, the sea grey. Here and there, the surface was marred by darker ripples, lending the sea the look of a hard slab of unyielding grey and black marble. But as I watched, the late morning sun above shot a thin beam of light through the clouds. It burst into gold-bronze fire on the water, as though the sun insisted on crowning the sea, no matter how dark it was. A fretwork of lace-white clouds, trying to resist being pulled away by the high, rough winds, shifted to reveal the sky: a deep royal blue. Altogether, it was breathtaking in its beauty.

The last time I'd stood here, looking out through the windows, it had been night; and I'd been trying – and failing – to find the sword of Triton. Right before the Capitán had caught me…

Right before he'd led me out onto the quarterdeck, to stand next to him for that first time. Before we'd first argued about mercy versus justice, before I'd first risked trying to reason with him, because Lieutenant Scarfield's life hung in the balance.

Unbidden, more of Capitán Salazar's words about Scarfield came to my mind: _Perhaps, if you could see what I have seen, you would not have interfered with me! You would not have stopped Lieutenant Scarfield's death…_

Words said in the heat of the moment, but they replayed now with far more bitterness and sorrow than I'd been aware of before. Than perhaps even he had been aware of.

With guilt, I remembered again how Scarfield had caused the death of one of his men. I remembered their intense grief, as one of them had dissipated into thin air – because Scarfield had commanded the barrels of dirt to be spilled across the deck of the Proserpine. I realised then how my actions must have seemed to them all. Running down to intervene, nearly getting myself killed, just to save the man who had murdered one of their own. From their point of view, I knew I shouldn't be surprised if they hated me. They'd had every right to demand Scarfield's execution. And yet at the end of the duel, even when he had the opportunity to kill him, Lieutenant Lesaro had looked to his Capitán and asked for permission.

Capitán Salazar was right, I should have trusted him.

He himself had seen Scarfield's guilt. He must have seen guilt like Scarfield's many, many times. I knew that if I had the ability to see the bad things people had done, just by looking at them, I wasn't sure how long I'd be able to bear it. It'd crush me. The evil of humanity, visible to me in every face I saw. I wondered that it didn't drive the men of the Silent Mary completely insane. In fact, it was a miracle that the Capitán and his men weren't _worse_. That they weren't even _more_ cruel, or more temperamental, or more unstable. I didn't think I would keep it together as much as they had. I didn't think I'd be able to face existence anymore.

And yet, Capitán Salazar had.

It had never occurred to me until now that the Capitán could have ended his own existence. At any time. If all it took was dirt…

They'd been free from the Devil's Triangle for weeks. He could have thrown himself onto any shore of any island, any rocky outcrop jutting out of the waters anywhere in the Caribbean Sea, and simply ceased existing. He could have ended his pain, and the weariness of his hopeless situation, but he did not.

That cursed place they'd sailed into, the one Moss did not even wish to describe in words, must have been a truly dark and terrible place. But Capitán Salazar had faced it, and finally come out of it. He'd been trapped there for who knew how many years before he escaped. And yet he had never given up. None of the Silent Mary crew had. Even though they might easily have given up or lost their minds, trapped in that dark place for so long, they still held on.

And even without hope, Capitán Salazar had continued to survive.

But I knew it wasn't hope that had sustained him. His _rage_ had fuelled him. And I couldn't blame him for it. It was what had kept him existing. That, and his curse. Both fuelling his continued determination to exist, to continue hunting pirates, to continue seeking them on the seas. He could feel their crimes, the injustice their victims had suffered, invisible demands for restitution crying out to him.

As the distant shafts of sunlight flickered and shifted on the surface of the sea, for the first time I felt I truly was beginning to see Capitán Salazar's cast-iron view of the world: the guilty and the innocent, pirates and victims, traitors like Scarfield and...

I stared out through the glass, no longer seeing, just thinking of how he had looked at me when I had told him, 'you can't measure another person's pain'. He'd been surprised, and then, for just the briefest fraction of a second, he'd been sad – but I hadn't noticed it at the time, because he'd so quickly covered it up with a sneer.

_You can't measure another person's pain…_

Another person's pain.

My own hypocrisy just about slapped me in the face.

Because in the end, I could not possibly measure _his_ pain. Even if he told me about it every day for the rest of my life, I would never completely be able to understand what he had been through. So, perhaps he was right. Perhaps, if I had seen what he had seen, I wouldn't have interfered. When Capitán Salazar had hold of him by the throat, maybe... I should have let Scarfield die.

"It's time, Señorita."

For a heart stopping moment I was both afraid and hopeful that Capitán Salazar had come back, but I was wrong.

Officer Magda had materialised through the cabin door behind me, his copper eyes reflecting like a cat's in the light from the windows. I didn't know how long he had been there, just in front of the door, standing on his invisible legs. He could have been watching me at the windows the whole time, and I had been too deep in my own thoughts to know.

"Ah," he said, very softly. "Perdón. You were enjoying the beautiful view."

Something about the way Magda spoke set me on edge. He spoke politely enough; but there was a fringe of disapproval around his words, as if I was doing something I shouldn't be doing. Or being somewhere I shouldn't be allowed.

"Lo siento, don't look guilty, Señorita." He shook his head at me, his polite manner ringing even more falsely in my ears. "Savour it. After all, this is the last time you will have such a view."

As his meaning sank in, I glanced at the cabin door behind him. I knew I absolutely needed to see Capitán Salazar again. Not that I had any idea what I would say to him: I didn't think there'd be much I could do to change his mind. But at the very least I could apologise. Because I'd thought about what he'd said. I could admit that I might have been wrong – about some things. He might not really care for me, he might only care about his curse, but I couldn't blame him for that. And if I could tell him this, I had a feeling I might be able to reason with him enough for us to come up with another way to get the power of the Trident safely out of him, and release him and all his men from the curse.

I focused quickly back on Magda.

"Officer Magda," I saw the way his shoulders stiffened when I addressed him, so I spoke as gently as I could, "Would it be possible for me to see –"

"No."

"I'm – I'm sorry?"

"Whatever you are about to ask," he turned away from me, to look out the windows. "My answer is no."

I paused, reassessing. "And what will you say to Capitán Salazar? When you next speak with him?"

Those preternatural eyes fired from copper to gold in an instant. " _Say_ , Señorita?"

"Will you tell him that I wished to speak with him, and that you refused?"

"That depends on what you wish to speak with him about." He looked at me a moment, his cool eyes conducting their own assessment. "If you wish, I can pass on a message to him."

"If I have something to say, Officer Magda, I would rather say it myself –"

"I said _no_ , Señorita!" he interrupted. "¡A lo hecho, pecho! You have been speaking with him for a long time already. If you did not say what you needed to before now, then it can't be worth saying."

A cold shiver fanned up my spine, but I ignored it. "Actually, I didn't exactly have the chance –"

"You have been assigned to me, Señorita. No one else. Me, and I will not allow it!"

Before I could respond, he started to move towards me, and whatever I had been about to say was lost. Because it was so eerie, seeing him move. Seeing the slight shifts in his torso as he did, as if he really were walking gracefully on two legs – legs that were mostly invisible. I could distinguish a faint outline of black ash, swirling here and there at the edges. I could see the light from the windows distorting as it passed through his legs. I could even hear the faintest of soft footfalls, as he stepped up towards me. But not being able to see his legs – I just couldn't help myself. I stared.

I realised too late that continuing to stare at his missing legs would be a mistake, and lifted my eyes up. But he had already seen me look, and seemed to know that I was now trying _not_ to look; because his gaze hardened, and his mouth twisted into a thin smile.

"You are my prisoner now, Señorita." He said lightly, as he came to face me at the windows. "And unlike young Antonio, I am a strict guard. I take my duty seriously. I do not fail to carry out my orders."

This close to Magda, I saw the severity of the wounds across his face. In an instant, I realised he must have been among the closest to the exploding gunpowder when he'd died. His face was deeply lacerated with jagged cracks: splitting his forehead, running over one cheek, across his chin, even slicing into his lips.

I took a breath in.

"What," I asked quietly. "Are your orders?"

"To escort you from this cabin, and treat you – like all the other prisoners from the Proserpine."

I thought of Scarfield's bruises when he'd been brought onto the deck, and how riled up the pirates he'd been locked in with must be right now. "Did he give you – instructions, if I did wish to speak with him first?"

"Oh, Señorita," he wasn't angry this time; his sneer merely amused. "You really are persistent aren't you? Even if I did permit it, I would not advise you to do something so unwise!" His sneer became sharp. "But I do _not_ permit it. You will not see the Capitán again unless I say so. And I consider it my duty not to let you. Not until I am personally satisfied you have met – certain conditions."

"What conditions?"

"Patience!" He said curtly. "Always rushing, Señorita! You may have impressed _some_ , by your dramatic attempt to save that English Lieutenant, but not me. You rushed in and nearly impaled yourself on my sword today, and might have died for your trouble! But as I told the others, it is easy to find someone willing to give up and die, and nearly impossible to find anyone willing to endure the pain of living with _patience_."

Officer Magda's sharp words made me shrink from immediately speaking again. Capitán Salazar had sent me into a panic more than once, but Magda was starting to be almost as equally intimidating.

My hesitancy must have shown on my face, because he shrewdly studied me, before saying, "Ah, forgive me. Where are my manners? Así que, adelante. ¡Mirad!" He gestured towards the windows with a languid hand. "I can permit you to take one last time to enjoy the view, Señorita. But do it quickly; the Capitán will soon wish to have his cabin to himself again."

I tried not to look as anxious as I felt. "Where... are you going to take me?"

"Eager to leave already?" He raised an eyebrow. "I apologise that I cannot afford you the same hospitality as you have had here. You will not be returning to _my_ quarters."

The very unwelcome thought that Magda really did intend putting me in with the rest of the Proserpine's crew worried me. Being locked in a cell with men, most of whom I now knew were pirates, and knowing what they might do to a woman, especially a woman like Lady Stanhope, without the authority or protection of Lieutenant Scarfield there to stop them...

"Please," I tried to ask it in the most inoffensive way possible, uncertain of his reaction, but needing to know what he had in mind, "Are you – going to lock me in with the others?"

"Mmm." He hummed noncommittally, turning away from me to look out at the view again himself. "That depends."

I didn't like the way he answered me, and for the first time I became conscious of the fact that I was not sure of his intentions. I definitely wasn't sure that being guarded by this man was going to be better than being alone in a cabin with Capitán Salazar.

"What does it depend on?" I asked carefully.

"Did you know I was here when they built La María?" He changed the subject smoothly, with all the confident superiority of the high ranking officer that he was, "I was standing here, in this very cabin, when the workers were fitting the glass to these windows."

I wasn't sure if I should ask him again about where he planned to take me, or wait: either way, it was obvious that he had changed the subject on purpose. He paused once more, as if he himself was momentarily caught by the breathtaking view of the sunlight on the sea in front of us. I decided to wait.

"It was a very long time ago... before everything went bad." His gaze became unfocused, his tone distant as he murmured something quietly to himself in Spanish, before adding, "We were trapped so long… en el infierno. None of us will ever take the daylight for granted again."

A flash on the window pane caught my eye. Magda's reflection. There was no mistaking the two bright copper eyes in the clouded glass. I saw the mirrored impression of his mouth, parted as though caught in pain, his reflected gaze momentarily shifting, locking with mine in the window pane, angry and vulnerable and alone. Realising I could see, he quickly wiped it away.

"But I don't suppose," he turned to cast me a haughty look, his usual expression of superiority firmly in place, "You would show us the same sort of compassion that you do for your Lieutenant Scarfield."

"Actually I do," I said.

He stared.

"I do feel sorry for what's happened to you," I dropped my eyes away from him; knowing that my sympathy may not be welcome to him, but wanting to let him know anyway. "And I think I understand why –"

"Understand?" He gave a sudden, mirthless laugh. "Why would I want you to understand? The only thing _I_ will have you understand, Señorita," he said, "Is that I am your guard now. And I am _not_ like the others! I do not need to refer to anyone else to do my duty. My tenure surpasses nearly every other man here, because I was the first assigned to La María Silenciosa. Even before the Capitán. Before anyone." His lips twisted. "You did not know that, did you?"

"No," I said. "I didn't know that."

"Not many on La María know. Or remember. Sometimes, it has been so long, it is difficult even for me to remember. But I want you to know, Señorita. I want _you_ to understand. You will see why soon."

He paused before continuing quietly, reaching back for memories from his past with an effort that made the corners of his eyes crinkle, as if the act of remembering itself caused him physical discomfort.

"Before the King had even decided who the Capitán was, I was here. There were so many men who applied to the King for the honour, so _many_ who wanted to be known as el Capitán of La María Silenciosa… but I was here first. Not even Guillermo had been made the Lieutenant. Not officially. His own voyage had been delayed many weeks, and he arrived late to Cadíz…"

Magda paused, his face drawn tight; I could see he was still remembering, places and people and events from a long time ago. Even though a full minute stretched out while he stood still, lost in his own memories, I didn't want to interrupt him.

"It was I who the King trusted," he suddenly said. "I was entrusted with the task of supervising the work on this ship. I, Miguel Magda." He clasped his hands elegantly behind his back. "Bracero was my chief carpenter. He'd been recommended to me, a master craftsman who had sailed and worked on ships his entire life. There was no one with better skill than him, not in all of Spain. He and I together made sure this ship was worthy of the Queen she was named after. The Queen that our country had lost. The beloved wife of our King. Together, we made sure everything was as it should be."

Slowly, he unclasped his hands, reaching a long finger up to trace along the window frame. His eyes studied the glass before him, as if even now he was examining the craftsmanship of the window.

"So I am sure you can sympathise, Señorita," he paused, his lips parting over his teeth like something distasteful was on his tongue, "When I tell you that Bracero is still extremely angry at the damage you did in the brig. As, I will add, am I."

I remembered Bracero's reaction when Scarfield had spat on the deck, how he'd lunged towards him and tried to choke him. If that was how he'd felt about Scarfield merely spitting on the deck... I shivered, thinking about the broken iron bar and ruined floorboards in the brig that I'd ripped out in my escape. Bracero must want to hang me upside down from the rigging for the damage I'd done.

"But I have personally warned Bracero to stay away," Magda said, after a side glance at me. "I am the only one on La María that he really listens to. And I am the only one who will prevent Bracero from acquainting you with the blades of his knives in the silence of your sleep. I can keep him away. At least, until I am satisfied about who you are, and about the – rumours I am hearing about you."

I blinked. "Sorry?"

"No need to be coy with me, Señorita. I know the Capitán is satisfied that he knows who you are. Or _thinks_ he knows. But the moment I saw you on the Proserpine, I saw immediately that this," he circled the air around me with a finger, "Isn't your real body. That you had stolen another lady's body."

"I didn't steal it!"

"No?" He pressed in closer. "Then how did you come to be in it?"

"I can't say."

"Already, you are forgetting I am not Antonio –"

"I'm not afraid of you."

"Ah, I don't doubt it! The bravest are often the stupidest. Ever since we first boarded your ship, I have seen your stupidity. It has been extraordinary! I am not sure I have seen anyone less like the goddess of wisdom than you."

His words pierced, but what he didn't know is that this was familiar territory for me. His sneer, his delight in insulting me, his constant attempts to make me feel small – it might have been a few years ago for me, but it wasn't the first time I'd had to deal with attitudes like his. I knew how to fight.

"And ever since I've been aboard _your_ ship," I replied coolly, "I've never seen anyone more mean or petty than you!" I leaned back against the window frame, giving him a disdainful look of my own. "But I suppose you take pride in that."

"I take pride in my worth, Señorita. I know my value. Do you know yours?"

"Oh, is that your _value?_ Insulting me? Sure, that's real noble." Then I echoed his own words back at him, arrogant words he'd said to Moss when I'd first been brought into his cabin: " _Real_ noble, for an _Officer of the Spanish Armada!_ "

His eyes flickered over my face. "Cortez said your tongue could be sharp."

"You want to test me?"

"A duel of wits, Señorita?" His copper eyes fell over my boy's clothing. "I don't think you are up to it. I think dressing like a man has made you forget you do not have a man's abilities."

"You don't like my clothes, Officer?" I shot back. "Pity. Or are you just jealous that I look better in boots than you do?" I let my eyes drop. "Though it'd be hard to compare, wouldn't it."

"¡Ya basta de hablar!" His eyes blazed and his words poured out thick and fast, "Enough of this! I saw how you tried to fight Capitán Salazar on the Proserpine! I saw his face, the very moment he decided not to kill you! The way he looked at you, when he held you in his arms. When he first brought you, unconscious, aboard La María. He said no one was to ask you questions, and especially no one was to touch you." He leaned right over me, using his height to full advantage, forcing me to tilt my head back. "' _No one touches her skin_ ,' he told me. No one, except him. I have seen how you do not like to be touched by him, and I have seen how he cannot stop touching you." He released a long breath, returning now to his more usual manner of measured control. "So much mystery about you, Señorita. But Santos defends you to me, and says you are more than the lady whose body you stole. Cortez tells me you convinced the Capitán to listen to what Sparrow – of all people – had to say. And dear Antonio…" Magda gave me a look of mock-suffering, "Has been overheard frequently saying that he believes the Capitán is keeping you because you are important for breaking our curse. But." He looked speculative. "I am not convinced."

These were extremely dangerous waters, and I knew I had to navigate my way carefully. "I can't – I can't tell you anymore than what Capitán Salazar already has."

"Why not?"

"Because he – I don't think he wants me to."

Magda averted his face from me, as though I'd said something morally offensive, and closed his eyes for a brief second. "You show remarkable loyalty to a man who threatens you."

I huffed a disbelieving laugh, "It's _because_ he threatens me that I'm careful about what I say to you!"

He looked at me for a long moment. And then he said, "Bien. I will take you to Capitán Salazar now."

I hesitated, surprised by his change. "You're going to let me speak to him?"

"Come," Magda turned impatiently away. "I want answers, Señorita, and I will have them."

I didn't know whether he was bluffing about taking me to the Capitán or telling me the truth. "So what if he doesn't want to give you answers?"

Magda's eyes burned gold as he looked over his shoulder at me. "I am not like the others. I will have the answers, Señorita. And you will give them to me."

I lingered by the windows, still unwilling to move. "I want to speak with him first. And then after – well, I've got to be honest, I'm not sure he's going to let me give you any answers."

"If it is the Capitán that must 'let' you speak," a slight sneer briefly twisted his lips, "If it is he you must beg permission from, like a good little pet, then let us no longer delay."

I wanted to snap a retort at his calling me a pet, but at his imperious gesture towards the cabin door I decided I'd better call his bluff. If he was going to take me to the Capitán, then I wasn't going to lose this opportunity.

"Alright." I nodded. "Then take me to him."  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPANISH TRANSLATIONS:
> 
> Lo siento – I'm sorry
> 
> Por favor – Please
> 
> Así que, adelante. ¡Mirad! – So go ahead. Look!
> 
> A lo hecho, pecho – You made your bed, now lie in it. A Spanish proverb. (Literal Translation: 'What's done, chest' – which means, you've done it, now stick your chest out, be brave and bear it)
> 
> ¡Ya basta de hablar! – That's enough talking!
> 
> Bien – Fine
> 
>  
> 
> AUTHOR'S NOTES: María Luisa of Savoy, wife of King Philip V, proved very popular as Queen of Spain. A quick look at her life will show she was an incredible woman for her times, as well as an effective and intelligent monarch. The King was often away from Spain because of the war of the Spanish Succession (1701-1714), but in his place she was a more than capable as regent. The King was purportedly very in love with her, and slept in the same bed as her (when not away) throughout their entire marriage. In 1714, Maria Luisa died at the age of 26 from tuberculosis, a devastating emotional blow to her husband.
> 
> Magda paraphrases a quote usually attributed to Julius Caesar when he says, "... it is easy to find someone willing to give up and die, and nearly impossible to find anyone willing to endure the pain of living with patience."


End file.
